


Break This Safe Around My Heart

by isthislove



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: A lot of profanity ok, Alternate Universe - College/University, Cher and Perrie are the coolest BFFs ever, Drug Use, Eleanor is a sorority queen mastermind, Everyone drinks a lot of bad beer and Monarch vodka, Explicit Language, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Harry has problems, Just poorly written smut, Louis is kind of an asshat, M/M, Niall and Liam are frat boys, Sexual Content, Some really strange pairings, Underage Drinking, Zayn's a foreign exchange student
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-10
Updated: 2013-08-14
Packaged: 2017-11-25 02:00:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 56,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/633915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isthislove/pseuds/isthislove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn Malik is just another new face at Redwood University. What sets him apart is the fact that he's the only British foreign exchange student on campus. In the U.S. against his will, Zayn has no intentions of making any friends or having a good time, but he quickly gets pulled into the shenanigans of his three roommates - Ed, who becomes his number one fan; Harry, who has enough problems to warrant rehab yet stays strangely optimistic; and Louis, who's back from a summer abroad in Spain and has come home a changed man. And of course, there's also the totally unwelcome group project Zayn finds himself a part of. A project that introduces him to Niall Horan, some fratboy who enjoys PBR, Wednesdays, and intramural sports far too much. He has half of campus after him for one reason or another, and somehow Zayn finds himself just one of many.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. So Long, Soldier

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so, I'm just going to go ahead and start posting this. Please don't get sick of me! :'( It won't be updated as quickly as my first fic but hopefully that's not a huge problem. This one is completely different from my first and even though it does have angsty stuff in it (is it possible to have zero angst??), it's nowhere near as depressing as the first story, I'd say. I read a handful of stories where Niall's a fratboy and I liked the idea, so thanks to the people whose stories inspired this one. (: So yeah, hope you enjoy these first few chapters!
> 
> Disclaimer: by no means do I own One Direction or any of the people in this story. This is all fiction and none of it's true or implying anything. And the song the work title comes from is Need You by Travie McCoy. Have a listen. xoxo

  
_"A little boy from just outside of London took a fated trip across the ocean_  
 _and little did he know that he would find his voice in verse and chorus,_  
 _making wishes on his broken stereo. can't shake the noise from his bones,_  
 _hear it all play out in distant echoes. So long, soldier."_  
So Long, Soldier - All Time Low.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The first thing that Zayn thinks when he steps into the dormitory suite is that he has just walked into a hipster paradise. 

The walls are covered in posters of bands like The Clash, The Kinks, and The Who, and there's an artistic display of records plastered to the ceiling. Even the knitted afghan blanket thrown over the back of the sofa seems ironic somehow. Zayn isn't exactly impressed, but it could be worse. His old roommate back home had microwaveable frozen meatloaf for dinner at least three times a week, stinking up the entire room, and decorated his side of the room with posters of half-naked women straddling sports cars. From what he can see so far, Zayn guesses that the people who live here probably don't even eat, let alone eat microwaveable meat products. Is eating too "mainstream"?. 

“Ed? It's about fucking time, man, Lou's gonna -”

Zayn looks down from the records on the ceiling (had they been _glued_ up there?) to see a tall, lanky guy standing in the doorway of one of the bedrooms. It looks like he'd stuck his entire head in a wind tunnel, his curly hair is so tousled, and the v-neck shirt he's wearing is so holey Zayn can see more skin than fabric. The guy's dark wash jeans are slung low on his hips, exposing the waistband of a pair of Calvin Klein boxers. What strikes Zayn isn't the oddly disheveled state of the man but the fact that he's wearing designer underwear. For some reason, he doesn't seem like the type and it confuses Zayn. Maybe he'd misjudged the situation.

“Oh, shit, sorry,” the man says, an uncertain smile appearing on his face. “You must be the new roommate?”

“That's me,” Zayn replies with a shrug.

Almost as soon as the words leave Zayn's mouth the man claps his hands once loudly and the smile on his face turns into an excited, nearly manic grin.

“Holy fuck, so you are British! Ed said you were but he's in love with England so I thought he was just making it up, you know?” The man talks painstakingly slow, even when worked up. He gestures wildly at the posters on the wall and Zayn glances at them out of politeness, although he's already taken in the less than superb room décor.

“Er, yeah, I'm British,” Zayn says uncomfortably, chewing on his bottom lip. He hates this part already and he's only been in the states for a day. “I'm Zayn, by the way. Zayn Malik.”

“Awesome, man,” the man says, taking a few long strides toward Zayn with his hand outstretched. “I'm Harry Styles.” 

Zayn takes the proffered hand, shakes it weakly before releasing it and taking a couple of steps back. There's something about Harry that buzzes, like he's just one giant ball of energy and tension ready to explode at any moment. It makes Zayn anxious and uneasy. He tends not to like people like Harry Styles; he always feels as if he's missing out on something when he's around them, like there's a party going on that he's not invited to or even aware of.

“So, this is Ed's room and my room is obviously that one, but these two are open for you to choose from,” Harry says as he points at each room with the flourish of a flight attendant.

Zayn circles around Harry at a safe distance and looks into the two empty rooms. They're your average university dorm rooms and look much like his old room back in London, and that comforts Zayn. There's a loft-style bed on a new looking wooden frame with a desk space underneath it, and an open wardrobe with a mirror attached to one of the doors. The one window looks out on a grassy quad. There's not much else besides that. 

“I thought there were three of you,” he says, glancing over his shoulder at Harry. 

Harry blinks owlishly for a few seconds as if he's temporarily forgot the English language before he breaks back into that hesitant smile. 

“Oh, right, there are. Louis and I, we – uh – share a room.”

So two of his roommates are gay. Or like sharing the same room, at any rate. Zayn shrugs, turns back to the empty room without saying anything. He honestly couldn't care less. Sexuality is private and who people choose to fuck isn't any of his business. The last thing he needs is to round this day off by going into detail about sexual orientation with these strangers he'll be calling roommates. 

“You're a sophomore, right?” Harry asks after a while. “Like … nineteen?”

Zayn turns back around, stares impassively at Harry. “Uh, I'm nineteen. So … yeah?”

Harry looks like a deer in the headlights again, and Zayn briefly wonders if he's said something offensive. He's already tired of trying to read Harry; he flickers through different emotions far too quickly. Zayn's ace at reading people, if he's quite honest. If possible, he'd be majoring in it. However, some people are just as good at hiding their emotions as he is while some are shit at it, like this Harry Styles, and are constantly giving him whiplash with their constant changes. 

“Right. It's just that usually people study abroad for a whole year when they're juniors or seniors, you know? Like later? Is it different in England?”

“Oh,” Zayn says, nodding slowly, having caught only fifty percent of the question, “I didn't want to wait, I guess.”

It's clearly not the truth but Harry either doesn't catch the insincerity in Zayn's voice or knows not to push. After having chosen the room furthest from Ed and Harry's, Zayn grabs his two duffel bags and starts unpacking. He can see that Harry's gone back to his own room, draping the suite in a peaceful quiet. It's a few days before the term begins and even though Zayn's residence hall is open, the freshman dorms aren't admitting students until tomorrow and so the campus is fairly dead. When the university car service that had picked him up from the airport had gotten to campus, Zayn had been struck by the eerie tranquility of the place. He was used to the bustle of London, the general hubbub. This campus was sleepy and if the one street they'd driven down was an accurate indicator, so was the rest of the surrounding town.

It only takes an hour to get all of his clothing and belongings sorted, leaving Zayn with not much else to do. He doesn't know how to connect his laptop to the campus WiFi yet and really has no motivation to try and figure it out, so he climbs the ladder to his bed and curls up under the comforter. It doesn't smell like home and he feels a deep pang of homesickness wash over him. He mostly misses London, not Bradford, his hometown. He thinks of his family and how they'd all wept at the airport, even his dad, as they said good-bye to him. He hadn't cried, had stayed stubbornly dispassionate as he waved farewell and headed off to his gate. He hadn't forgiven them, even as they hugged him tightly and cried genuine tears over his departure. Wouldn't for a while, if he had anything to say about it.

It's only when he startles awake at the sound of loud voices that Zayn realizes he'd drifted off. He glances at the alarm clock perched on the shelf by his head and sees that it's already noon. The sunlight is coming in through the window hot and full. He'd slept for a good two hours or so. In the main living area of the suite, he can hear Harry's slow voice speaking in an irritated sort of clip, interrupted here and there by another male voice. Zayn doesn't want to meet anyone else but he knows that it's inevitable, he can't just ignore his roommates forever, so he climbs out of bed and drags himself into the main room. 

There's a stocky redheaded guy standing on the creaking couch, tackling a large square of paper onto the wall between The Ramones and The Rolling Stones. Harry's reaching out, his hands hovering around the other guy's hips, obviously ready just in case the couch gives out and pitches the man off. They're arguing, or at least Harry is - the other man is laughing like he's having the time of his life. He finally gets the poster secured and nods at it in appreciation. Zayn sees that it features some obscure band that he has never heard of, but assumes is British. The redhead clambers down off the couch, plowing into Harry and nearly knocking them both over. 

“I haven't hugged you yet, you asshole,” the redhead says once they've both regained their balance. Then he promptly throws his arms around Harry and squeezes him so tightly the curly-haired man grimaces in pain.

It's only after they've parted that the man notices Zayn, who's leaning against the doorjamb of his room, just watching the two interact. People fascinate him to no end, even though he acts like they absolutely bore him. It's the safest way to observe without getting noticed. Nobody would ever peg him as the type to take an interest in others and so he's always gotten away with seeing and hearing more than he should. He's as close to having an invisibility superpower as he can get.

“Hey! You must be Zayn!” the redhead says, advancing towards Zayn with just as much enthusiasm as Harry had. 

“Yeah, I'm Zayn,” Zayn says, taking the man's hand and shaking it. 

The man looks over at Harry, who's grinning at him in a way that Zayn does not like. They're talking to each other without words. 

“I'm Ed,” he says, practically jittering with excitement. “I told Harry that you're British but he didn't believe me. I mean, I'm tight with the housing director for the university so I don't know why he thought I'd lie about it but … he's an idiot so.”

Harry yells 'hey!' but Ed just laughs raucously. The third roommate – this Louis – hasn't even showed up yet but already it's just too loud for Zayn. It isn't like he's used to total silence; he has sisters, after all, and he has a year of uni dorm living under his belt. But these two are something totally different. It might be stupid, but Zayn wonders if it has something to do with them being American. People always talk about Americans being outgoing and friendly and over-the-top. Maybe this is what they're talking about. There's definitely something different about the people he's met so far. They're as sunny as the Californian weather and all seem to be brimming with a weirdly potent vivacity. It's all pretty exhausting. Even the lady who'd checked Zayn in had been way too happy.

“So when's Louis getting here?” Ed asks, finally taking his eyes off Zayn and directing his gaze over at Harry.

“In an hour or so?” Harry says, fishing his phone out of his pocket and scrolling through what Zayn assumes is his texts. “His dad's being a total douchebag, apparently. He wouldn't let Louis bring the Beemer after what happened last year and insisted that he drive him.” Harry rolls his eyes. 

“Can you blame him?” Ed asks, plopping down onto the couch and setting his feet onto the coffee table. “You guys totaled his last car.” 

“Not our fault,” Harry says, frowning. “The other guy was drunk off his ass. That was some scary shit. I don't think his dad realizes how terrifying that was. We could've died!”

Ed waves his hand dismissively, nods. “Yeah, well, Louis might not have been drunk but he blew through the four-way stop, too, so whose fault was it really?”

Zayn zones out as the two begin arguing again. He wants to go back to sleep but his internal clock is already fucked up thanks to the time difference, and he should probably try to socialize a little. Or at least stick around until Louis shows up so he doesn't have to come back out later and repeat the same awkward 'when will I get noticed?' number. He takes a seat next to Ed on the couch and just watches the two men alternate between bickering and joking. 

Zayn learns quite a bit in that next hour; Harry is from the San Francisco area, Ed is from Seattle, Washington and apparently Louis is from Santa Barbara. It also becomes clear that while Harry and Ed are from strictly middle-class families, Louis' dad makes a disgusting amount of money, which is how the family of seven can afford to live where they do. They all met last year in the dorms and became quick friends. Zayn's still not one hundred percent sure what Harry and Louis are in relation to each other, but he knows he'll find out sooner or later. He's got the patience of a monk, it won't kill him to wait. Plus, he ends up not having to for very long, anyway.

Louis arrives in a whirlwind. He comes in with a duffel bag slung over one shoulder, followed by a man Louis assumes is his father, who's dragging two huge suitcases behind him. He looks absolutely pissed off at being delegated as his son's personal bellhop, but says nothing as he moves through the suite and goes into Harry's room, where the sound of the suitcases hitting the floor is heard. He emerges seconds later, gives Louis a one-armed hug and then vanishes before Zayn can even get a good look at him. He turns his attention towards his third and final roommate, who's hugging Harry and Ed tightly at the same time, cooing nonsensical things as he lavishes attention on them. Zayn remains on the couch, not sure if he should throw himself into the mix of things and get it over with or just hold out until he's noticed again. 

He doesn't have to worry about making the first move; Ed manages to wriggle out of Louis' grasp and waves one hand in Zayn's direction.

“Lou, this is Zayn, the foreign exchange student and our new roommate.” 

Louis turns towards Zayn, one arm still wrapped around Harry's waist. He's impossibly tan and tousled from head to toe. He's wearing a thin blue t-shirt that matches the color of his eyes almost perfectly and a pair of tight white jeans that are rolled up over a pair of Toms. He's petite and everything about him seems sort of elfin and delicate. Despite his put-together appearance, there's something that Zayn can't put his finger on that's just a bit off about the guy, like he's a puzzle missing a piece from the corner. Zayn's not sure what to make of Louis or the way his eyes glimmer in a way that doesn't exactly exude warmth but doesn't seem malicious, either. He looks like the type that judges mercilessly and impartially. Anyone can fall under that keen eye.

“Zayn, is it?” Louis says, raising an eyebrow. “I'm Louis Tomlinson, but I'm sure you know that already.” He says it in a way that somehow doesn't quite sound conceited, but it's obvious that this is a person who's used to having his name known before he even introduces himself.

“Nice to meet you,” Zayn replies in a tone that says otherwise. 

Louis raises an eyebrow and smiles knowingly but says nothing, just turns back to Harry and solves the big mystery by reaching up on tiptoe to press a kiss against Harry's lips. Zayn had also learned during the last hour that Louis had spent the entire summer in Madrid with a study abroad program, and besides weekly Skype dates, he and Harry hadn't seen each other since May. It's fairly obvious that it's been an extremely long few months for the two; Harry looks like he's ready to devour Louis right there and Louis' got a smug grin on his face that says he knows exactly what Harry's thinking.

That smirk still on his lips, Louis turns to Zayn and Ed and says, “Excuse us for a bit. We'll be out in time for dinner.”

And then he and Harry disappear into their shared room, the click of the lock practically echoing. Ed looks at Zayn, rolls his eyes then wanders off to his own room, leaving Zayn alone. He ends up giving up on his resolution and goes back to his bed for more sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know if I messed up somewhere. Also, the college they go to is fictional but basically it's in central California area, cool?


	2. Relax

  
_"I've come away with a panic attack. The spinning lights make it hard to react._  
 _Catch your breath, take your furniture back. It's for the taking. All these girls_  
 _are waiting. Love's not god forsaking. And that's worth celebrating. Relax."_  
Relax - Calvin Harris  


\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

By the first day of classes, a routine has already been put into place.

The four of them go to the cafeteria together for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and the time not spent eating is spent in the common area. Louis and Harry become the kings of the couch, taking up every inch of space with their tangled limbs. Ed drags out a couple of beanbags from his room at some point, and Zayn finds himself awkwardly splayed out onto one, sinking into the lumpy sphere. He feels like with every hour that passes, he loses a little bit more of his dignity. If it isn't bad enough that his designated spot is essentially a bunch of plastic beads encased in a pleather sack, Ed insists on shaping his quiff for him in the mornings like a celebrity stylist and Harry takes on the daily responsibility of lint rolling Zayn's clothing (as Harry says while running the sticky surface of the roller over Zayn's ass, _'you wear too much black for this not to be necessary'_ ).

While Harry and Ed cozy up to Zayn almost immediately and start treating him like the resident pet, Louis doesn't take to the new addition at all. He stays perched on the couch like a huffy cat when Zayn's in the near vicinity, watching him with weary, cautious eyes. Zayn imagines he's probably tallying up every wrong move that he makes; _oh, your hand brushed against my cereal box? Negative one point for you, dickhead._ Not that Zayn gives a shit whether Louis bloody Tomlinson likes him or not. He's perfectly capable of tolerating the guy and his attitude for two semesters. That's another thing that Zayn's great at – tolerating shitty people.

On Monday morning, Zayn stumbles out of bed at eight (he's used to afternoon classes, not this eight thirty rubbish) to find all three of his roommates already up and getting ready for the day. Ed is fully entrenched in a beanbag, spooning cereal into his mouth as Harry stands in front of the mirror, poking at his stomach. Louis' in the shower, meaning Zayn will either have to take a really quick one once he's out or forego it completely. Zayn goes over to the cupboard and fishes out a biscuit from the box his mother so lovingly packed for him, and shoves it into his mouth. He hates waking up early and he hates breakfast. 

“Hey, Ed, do you think I've lost weight?” Harry asks out of the blue, keeping his shirt lifted so his concave belly is visible. 

Zayn leans against the fridge as he chews and studies Harry's reflection. The other man is thin ... like thin thin. That's not just a consequence of genetics, that takes effort. Even Zayn, who has always been spindly, can't help but cringe at the sight of Harry's protruding ribs. Ed wrestles himself out of the beanbag and comes to stand next to Zayn. The three of them are framed in the mirror, Harry looking down at himself as he rubs his own stomach while Zayn and Ed look at him with identical expressions of deep scrutiny. 

Ed shrugs. “I don't know, man. You've always been skinny.” 

“I know,” Harry says, sounding exasperated, “but am I _skinnier_?” 

“Ask Louis, he's the one who actually cares what you look like,” Ed replies, disappearing into his room.

Zayn follows suit, leaving Harry to stare forlornly at his own reflection. He doesn't even want to know if this is a common occurrence, honestly. He didn't sign up to live in one of those houses with all the girls in it (he's watched enough American TV and cinema to know a little bit about campus culture, okay). By the time 8:15 rolls around, it's too late for a shower so Zayn gets dressed and waits compliantly as Harry de-lints his black t-shirt and Ed sweeps his fringe into a quiff. He doesn't have the heart to tell Ed that it looks like someone's taken a shit on the top of his head, and just allows the two of them to usher him out the door. Apparently Louis' first class is at 9:30, begging the question as to why he got the shower first, but it's _Louis Tomlinson_ and he does whatever the hell he wants, obviously.

Campus is buzzing with people and Zayn finally gets to see an American uni in action. Girls in flimsy exercise shorts and summer dresses parade around, throwing arms around each other while guys in Ray Bans and flip-flops high-five and yell out conversations as they walk by each other. It's not even nine in the morning and Zayn already has a headache. Luckily for him, Harry seems to house an entire drugstore in his backpack and he produces two little white pills for Zayn. He takes them and assumes they're the American equivalent of paracetamols. Even if they're not, he's not against the idea of floating through his first day on something harder than your average pain reducer. 

“Okay, guys,” Ed says as they all come to a stop outside of a huge brick building covered in ivy, “I'm off. Behave you two.”

Harry and Zayn wave to his retreating figure and then continue on their way down a shady pathway. Two girls pass by, eye Zayn quite conspicuously and then exchange looks as they pass. Zayn feels a dropping in his gut; he'd almost forgotten that this would happen. Harry nudges him, sends him a smug little smile. He tries to eke out a smile to give back but just ends up looking like he's swallowed a cactus. If only Harry knew. 

“So this is me,” Harry says, pointing to another intimidating looking building. “This is the art building. I'm an art major.” 

Zayn nods, stops himself from saying 'obviously'. 

“Where you going?” Harry asks, reaching out for Zayn's schedule, which is crumpled up in his hand. 

Zayn hands it over. “I don't know. I'm a chemistry major.”

Harry grimaces as he scans the paper. “Chemistry? Shit, man. But yeah, you're just up ahead over there. That building with all the windows? That's you.”

They say good-bye and part ways, promising to meet back up at their room before heading to lunch. Zayn knows he should feel more nervous but he's surprised to find that he's mostly just tired and irritated. Thanks to Harry's pills, his head has stopped throbbing but now he just wants to lie down on the grass and get some sleep. Everyone around him seems way too perky and excited, like this is the day they've been waiting for all their lives. It's not that Zayn doesn't like school. He does. He likes learning and he loves chemistry. But he doesn't like this school. He wants to be back in London where the tea doesn't all taste the same and people don't cut the sleeves off their t-shirts to the point that you can see their entire torsos.

His first class goes off without a hitch for the most part. His professor is some old guy who's wearing a shirt with a wolf howling at a moon on it, and clearly lives and breathes chemistry. Zayn sits next to a Chinese foreign exchange student who he has a jumbled but fairly satisfying conversation with. They both agree that Americans are fucking weird and the whole driving on the other side of the road thing is still throwing them off. They agree to be study partners and to exchange numbers once they figure out what the hell international students do about cellphones. Things could've gone worse, Zayn acknowledges as he makes his way to his next class. Fortunately, the campus isn't exactly Narnia and he finds his next class with more than enough time to spare.

His next class, Sociology 101, is filled with a bunch of freshmen who ooze apprehension and uncertainty. He sits in the back and watches as people file in. A couple minutes before class starts a group of people walk in, laughing and chatting far too loudly. There are two girls – one with long brown hair curled into fat spirals and one with platinum blonde hair tamped down by a braided headband – and a guy with short sandy brown hair with a noticeable mole on his neck. Zayn's not sure why the mole stands out to him; he wonders if it's possibly cancerous. The three of them climb the short flight of stairs and settle into the row right in front of Zayn, which is just about enough to drive him out of the room completely. But then the professor starts talking so he just resigns himself to his fate.

It becomes immediately clear that the three have zero interest in what the professor is saying; the two girls start surfing the internet on their phones and keep giggling at whatever they're looking at while the guy starts writing in his notebook. Zayn can see over his shoulder that it's a list detailing a number of tasks that he can't make heads or tails of. Put Declan Hargreaves on the list for Saturday? Get $15 from Niall for PBR? Zayn writes it off as some more incomprehensible American gibberish. Halfway through the class, the blonde girl notices Zayn sitting behind them and her eyes widen. He holds her gaze for a full three seconds before glancing back at the professor. He can see her out of the corner of his eye leaning over to whisper to the other girl, who then relays the message to the guy. He almost laughs out loud as the two try to covertly get glimpses of him. 

As soon as the class ends, Zayn's out of his seat and shuffling down the stairs, ignoring a female voice that calls out a 'hey!' at his back. He has no time to stop and chat. Okay, so he has a two hour break but he still doesn't have time to stop and listen to some girl make up a shitty excuse to talk to him. He's not an egotistical asshole, he just knows that at first glance, he's interesting. He gives off the impression of mystery and some people can't shake it off. It's not even like he goes out of his way to keep people guessing. He just doesn't enjoy humoring people and having to explain himself, uncover all the secrets for them. Fuck them. He's not a Rubik's Cube, he can't be solved with some perseverance.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

That night after dinner, the four of them take up their usual places in the common area of their suite and debrief about their day. Ed, who's a music and education double major, tells them about his guitar professor, who insists that they all give their guitars names (“Good thing I've already named mine!”, Ed adds, rubbing the surface of said instrument fondly. “Pete. After Pete Townshend.”). Harry describes a painting he's already started for a class. Louis, the business major, just shrugs and smiles when asked how his day went; Zayn gets the impression that although Louis talks the most quite a bit of the time, he says the least. Zayn, in an unusual show of candidness, tells them about the three who'd sat in front of him in sociology class. 

Louis starts nodding as soon as Zayn adds in the detail about the guy having a worrisome mole on his neck.

“That's Liam Payne,” he says, sounding amiable towards Zayn for once. “He's president of Alpha Kappa Lambda.” 

Zayn blinks, shakes his head. “Alpha Kappa Lambda … that's one of those, uh -”

“Fraternities,” Harry helps with a smile. 

Zayn nods. He's heard about them, and seen them depicted in movies. He doesn't have much of an opinion about them, just imagines that living around all that testosterone must facilitate a lot of regrettable decisions. Ed and Harry had dragged him to the bookstore the day before and had pointed out a pretty tree-lined street lined with boxy, nicely maintained houses. Harry had called it 'Greek Row', making Zayn think of death row. He couldn't ever see himself surviving in one, in any case.

Louis lets out a hum and goes back to looking grumpy. “AKL. The frattiest of them all.”

Ed shrugs. “They throw the wildest parties on campus, you know? Guys have to be on a list to get into all frat parties, but AKL sometimes has to do the same for girls.” 

Zayn says nothing. He doesn't have to try at all to look unimpressed. He has zero interest in fraternities and their strange inner workings. Back home in London, he'd done his fair share of partying. Maybe more than his fair share if he's honest with himself. He's tried the cheapest liquor and the most luxurious, smoked just about anything that can be put into a pipe, and during one party gone wrong, even let some girl inject him with heroin. He can't imagine how a _frat party_ can be anything too crazy. Not only are all the houses on campus but he's not blind, he's seen the number of police cars crawling around campus in broad daylight. 

“Liam's not a bad guy though,” Harry says, ever positive. 

Louis laughs dryly, reaches up and runs a hand through Harry's messy hair. “You just think he's cute.”

“Well, he is,” Harry huffs, frowning, “but that doesn't mean he's not also nice.”

“As nice as a frat boy can get,” Louis says with a note of finality in his voice that says this conversation is over.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next time Zayn has sociology, the trio successfully corner him. 

They show up to class earlier than the first time and instead of sitting in front of him, they move up a row and sit down next to him. The two girls take the seats on either side of him while the guy, Liam, sits down next to the blonde. He has an amused look on his face like he knows exactly what's about to go down. Zayn feels himself tense up involuntarily. He's trapped and he knows it. He barely breathes as the blonde girl leans forward, right up into his space, and reaches out to take the small pendant hanging from a thin gold chain around his neck. 

“What's this?” she asks softly, looking up at him through her thick lashes. 

He's had more experience dealing with girls like this than he wants to admit. They're good, girls like this one, he has to give them that. They know how to sneak in, know how to approach in a way that's not too overbearing but audacious nonetheless. Girls like this one aim to be unforgettable and they usually pull it off. He thinks about giving her a round of applause for her flawless technique, initiating contact yet acting coy, and then asking her how many guys she's managed to hook so far with it. If only she knew. 

“It's a symbol,” he says curtly, pulling the necklace out of her grip and letting it slip back beneath his shirt. 

She retreats back into the space of her own seat but keeps her eyes on him. Behind her, Zayn catches the curious gaze of the guy. Up close, he sees that Harry was correct in saying that this Liam's pretty cute. He's got an innocent, sweet sort of look about him that definitely doesn't scream 'president of the most debaucherous organization on campus'. Liam flushes under Zayn's steady gaze and glances away. 

“I haven't seen you around before,” the brown-haired girl pipes up from the other side of him. She has a high, squeaky voice that's not necessarily unpleasant yet does nothing to still the squirming in his gut. 

“I'm an exchange student,” Zayn supplies, already giving out more than he'd planned. 

Liam beams all of a sudden and looks back at Zayn. “You're the British student?”

Zayn blinks, stony-faced. “Yeah. Am I known around campus or something?”

“Oh, I volunteer with the International Programs Office. Everyone was really excited to hear that you were coming. You're the only student from the U.K. this year.” Liam says all of this in a strangely enthusiastic voice that makes him look and sound like he's ten. Zayn can’t tell if he likes or dislikes the guy. 

“Oo, the U.K.,” the brunette giggles, reaching around Zayn to poke the blonde's knee. 

The professor starts talking and a hush falls over the classroom. Zayn pulls his notebook into his lap, tries to make himself as small as possible. The girls rest their arms on both of the armrests, effectively penning him in. This class, they actually all pay attention but Zayn still can't concentrate. He really, really doesn't want to be here. Not in this classroom, not on this campus, not in this country. His homesickness hits at odd, inconvenient times, he's starting to discover. In the middle of class, at the cafeteria, waiting in the line at the loo - nowhere is he safe. 

After class, he gets to his feet and squeezes past the brunette without saying a word. It's like there are wolves nipping at his heels, he's so desperate to get away as quickly as possible. This time, they don't try to call him back and he feels the stiffness in his shoulders release a little bit. Maybe he'd scared them off. Maybe he'd acted like a big enough twat to turn them away.


	3. This Is Déjà Vu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dramaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.

  
_"I think I've been here before, I think I've run into you. I know the things that you do, 'cause this is déjà vu."_

Déjà Vu - 3Oh!3

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It doesn't take long for it to become obvious that Harry Styles is a whole lot more fucked up than he lets on.

Zayn discovers this fact – or more like stumbles upon it – one Friday night about a couple of weeks after the start of classes. He comes back to the dorms around eight o'clock after meeting up with his chemistry buddy and walks in on a veritable shit storm. Standing in the doorway, he's not sure if he'd missed some sort of memo or what. Ed is racing around the common area in just a pair of boxers with a big plastic bowl in his hands, and Louis' hysterical voice is coming from his and Harry's room, ordering Ed to fill the bowl with the coldest water possible. 

Zayn shuts the door and hesitantly approaches Ed. 

“Ed -”

“Fucking jesus!” Ed jumps in surprise, the bowl hitting the metallic surface of the sink with a loud rattle. “ _Zayn_ , you scared the shit out of me!”

Zayn backs away slowly, hands up as if to defend himself. He's starting to feel worry creep up his spine, because he's pretty sure that this is not normal behavior, not even for Americans. Ed's looking at him with wild eyes, the bowl clutched in both hands now. 

“What's going on?” Zayn asks, just as Louis bursts out of the bedroom.

“ _What the fuck is taking so long_?” 

Louis' also only clad in his underwear, and he looks just as panic-stricken as Ed. Except he's much louder about it, Zayn notes. And his underwear is also much tighter.

“What the bloody hell is _going on_?” Zayn repeats, glancing between Ed and Louis.

“Harry's really, really drunk,” Ed begins, but Louis starts waving his hands wildly to interrupt Ed.

“Later, we'll explain later!” he shouts, rushing forward to grab the bowl from Ed's hands. 

Zayn doesn't wait for anything more in the way of clarification; he hops over the coffee table (which is toppled over on its side for some reason) and goes into Harry and Louis' room. 

Harry is laid out on the bed which, unlike Zayn's, has been altered to be at the height of a normal bed. He's flat on his back with his head turned towards the wall and he's also naked from the waist up. His clothes are lying in a pile by the side of the bed, and what must be Ed and Louis' clothes lie close by. The room smells like vomit and Zayn has to take a steadying breath before he delves further in. He approaches the bed cautiously and notices several things in quick succession; Harry's breathing is frighteningly shallow, he's deathly pale, and there's an empty bottle of Fireball half-hidden under the bed. When he reaches out to lay a palm against his cheek, Zayn finds that Harry's skin is cool and clammy. He pulls his hand away when Louis comes barreling back into the room with the bowl, sloshing water all over the place.

“Step back,” he orders, and Zayn does so obediently.

He's not quite sure what Louis' planning on doing with the bowl of water up until the very moment that he actually dumps the entire thing over Harry's head. He hears someone shout out Louis' name rather loudly in shock and realizes belatedly that it was himself. Louis flings the empty bowl behind him, nearly clobbering Zayn in the head, before climbing onto the bed next to Harry. Everything's straight out of a bad movie and Zayn's head is reeling. Ed appears at Zayn's side like a phantom, his cellphone clutched tightly in his hand.

“Should I call 911?” he asks nervously. 

“No!” Louis immediately responds as he straddles Harry and slaps him across the face.

Both Zayn and Ed flinch at the sound of skin colliding with skin, but it seems to do the trick; Harry groans and starts to stir slightly. Louis grabs his chin and forces him to look straight at him. From where Zayn's standing, he can see Harry's green eyes blink open and closed a few times before focusing in on Louis with a half-lidded gaze. 

“You fucking idiot,” Louis snaps. “You promised you wouldn't do stupid shit like this anymore.”

Harry lets out a string of mumbled nonsense, trying to twist his face out of Louis' iron vise. Louis refuses to let go, his fingers digging into Harry's skin. Zayn wonders if he should maybe step in at some point in the near future, seeing as Louis looks like he's about to kill Harry if he doesn't die from alcohol poisoning first. Instead, he just stays back and watches the scene unfold. The last thing they need is for him and Louis to come to blows over Harry's comatose body. 

“You're not falling asleep,” Louis says harshly, apparently having understood Harry's garbled words. “You're staying up until I'm sure you're not going to die on us.”

The three of them stay up all night with Harry, propping him up between them and violently shaking him when he starts to drift off. The hospital is not mentioned again, but Ed's phone sits on the coffee table with '911' already punched in and waiting just in case. They alternate between forcing water down Harry's throat and keeping a close eye on him, taking shifts like sentries. Louis shoulders the duty of holding him upright as he heaves into the toilet. Zayn suspects that Louis is making Harry throw up, that it's not exactly voluntary, but he doesn't say anything. Louis probably has experience with this, because Zayn has the nagging suspicion that this isn't the first time something like this has happened. 

Ed more or less validates this theory when he says, “Harry needs to get his shit together.”

“Does he do this often?” Zayn asks quietly, watching through the open door as Louis stands over Harry by the toilet, brushing his damp curls back in a surprisingly tender way. 

“More often than he should,” Ed replies. “He doesn't understand the definition of 'moderation'.”

Zayn doesn't speak what's on his mind, which is that this seems a little more serious than not knowing what 'moderation' means. Alcohol and drugs seem to be a bit bigger of an issue than Ed's comment makes it out to be. He knows Harry smokes pot; it's apparently a pretty common practice to go out behind the dorms to smoke or hotbox someone's car. At least a handful of times, Ed and Harry have come stumbling into the suite, laughing with bloodshot eyes. Harry also has a stash of over-the-counter and prescription drugs on him at all times, like he's running a pharmacy right off his person. Zayn can't think of where he gets them. Not from Ed and not from Louis, is all he knows. Apparently, drinking and drugs aren't Louis' 'thing', which surprises Zayn for some reason. Louis' only explanation is that he got it 'out of his system' back in Spain, whatever that means.

Zayn furrows his brows. “Did he even go out tonight or ...” 

“He was going to,” Ed murmurs as they both watch Louis lower Harry down to the floor of the bathroom. “Obviously he pre-gamed a little too hard.”

Zayn nods, not sure what to say. 

“It freaks Lou out,” Ed continues, almost in a whisper. “He's convinced that Harry's going to die.”

“But he left for Spain all summer anyway?” Zayn doesn't mean to sound as snarky as he does. 

Ed glances at him, his expression unreadable. “He thought that Harry would be okay back home with his family.”

“And he wasn't,” Zayn clarifies. 

Ed sucks in a breath, exhales heavily. “Nope. I never told Lou this, but when Harry came up to visit me in Seattle, we went out and he got really fucked up on pills. Had to take him to the ER so they could pump his stomach.”

“Louis doesn't know,” Zayn says, feeling terribly stupid for repeating everything. 

“Nope.” 

“Why does he do this?” Zayn asks, posing the question to no one in particular.

It's one of those questions with no clean cut answer. Self-destruction is nothing new to him but he breaks himself down in less obvious ways. The type of self-destructive behavior that Harry's into is way too visible and public for Zayn's liking. Isn't the point of it to ruin yourself when no one's looking, badly enough that it's too late when people finally notice? Maybe that's what they mean by 'a cry for help'. Some people cry for help because a part of them genuinely wants to be rescued, while others simply don't.

“I have no idea, man,” Ed says tiredly, leaning his head back against the couch they're sitting up against and letting his eyes fall closed. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next morning, Harry gets out of bed at noon and takes a twenty minute shower. The water probably runs cold by the end, Zayn thinks as he fishes a couple of aspirin out of an industrial-sized bottle and fills a glass with water. Harry comes out of the shower with a towel wrapped around his bony hips and Zayn hands over the glass and the pills wordlessly. The silence continues as Harry slips the little white spheres into his mouth and washes them down with the entire glass. Once he's done, he sets the glass into the sink and slumps against the fridge, his eyes trained on the ground.

“Sorry,” he says quietly, “about last night.”

Zayn hesitates, not sure what the appropriate answer is. _'It's okay'? 'You're an idiot'_? He sort of wants to say both. 

Instead, he asks, “Where's Louis?”

“He and Ed went somewhere,” Harry replies quietly. “They left a couple of hours ago.”

“Oh.”

“He's pissed at me. Really fucking furious.” 

Zayn stays quiet, rinses out the glass and sets it on the drying rack. The little kitchenette in the suite is really nothing more than a fridge, a cupboard and a sink, but he knows that it can get messy like any other full-sized kitchen. He would never call himself a neat freak but he definitely has a cleaning streak in him. 

“I was pretty bad, wasn't I?” Harry asks after a couple of minutes.

Zayn puts down a soapy plate and looks at Harry. “Yeah, you were bad, mate.”

“I wasn't planning on getting that drunk,” Harry explains, sounding tremendously guilty nonetheless. “But Louis was snapping at me all day and … there's something different about him. He never used to get angry at me for no reason.”

Zayn wonders how well Harry really knows Louis, and visa versa. They'd spent freshman year attached at the hip, according to Ed, but still … a year is a year. Twelve months, 365 days. Not a whole lot of time to get to know one another in the bigger scheme of things. A year only sounds lengthy when broken down into numbers. But really, it might as well just be a miniscule dot on the map of your life. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

That Monday, Zayn's thrown another curveball.

At the beginning of sociology class, the professor announces that they'll be doing a group project to start off the semester. The two girls and Liam (who _hadn't_ been run off and now sat next to him permanently, apparently) start whispering madly at the announcement, their heads bent towards each other. Zayn just sits still, hoping that the next words out of the professor's mouth is 'your partners will be assigned for you.' However, life clearly wants to punish him for something he's done because the exact opposite comes out of her mouth. She says to get in groups of three or four, no more and no less. He gets a sinking feeling as soon as she waves them off to their business.

“You'll be with us, right?” The blonde (who'd introduced herself the week prior as Perrie) says immediately, turning towards Zayn with wide, hopeful eyes.

Her partner-in-crime, Cher the brunette, leans towards him from the other side. “Please?”

Zayn looks to Liam for some sort of escape, but the other man looks just as excited, a huge grin stretched out across his face. He knows he's been given an easy out. If they hadn't invited him into their group, he would've been that awkward kid who'd have to go up to the professor and ask to be placed in a group. Maybe Perrie, Cher, and Liam are a bit domineering and in-your-face, but it's better than nothing. 

So Zayn forces out a smile and nods, making all three of them erupt into triumphant cheers. They spend the rest of class discussing what they want to do their project on and settle on Karl Marx and the conflict theory because, as Liam explains, Marx gets a bad rap and his theory is 'actually quite reasonable'. By the end of class, Zayn is ready to curl up into a ball in bed and hide away from all people. The three of them are too animated, too lively. They sap him of his energy. 

“Okay,” Liam says at the end of class, just before Zayn can make his hasty departure, “let's meet up at my house and work on the project like … Wednesday around eight? Does that work?” 

Perrie and Cher agree wholeheartedly, then look to Zayn for his answer. He doesn't have to think too hard to figure out that his Wednesday night is wide open, but it does take him a little bit to work through the idea of actually going into a frat house. It shouldn't be a big deal, he knows, but before, when there was little chance of him actually ever going into one, it was easy to just regard them as insignificant. Now that he's been invited to one, things seem a bit more serious. How does a person even gain entrance into the house? Secret code? A gauntlet? Will he have to strip naked and do something stupid to prove himself worthy? _Christ, Zayn, you're just visiting the house, not trying to become a member_.

“Sure,” Zayn says, throwing in a nonchalant shrug for good measure. He is not nervous. 

Liam smiles that too-big smile again. “Great! It's Alpha Kappa Lambda. Just walk up Greek Row and we're the third house on the left!” 

For once Zayn is the last to leave and just watches the three of them skip down the stairs and out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note about the alcohol poisoning scene - I had a friend who got alcohol poisoning and so this is based upon what happened to him. He didn't go to the hospital but he ended up being okay. I felt like I just needed to add this so it doesn't seem like I just wrote that without a clue. (:


	4. Doing It For A Thrill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And Niall makes his dazzling entrance ~

  
_"Let's go to war to make peace. Let's be cold to create heat. I hope in  
darkness we can see and you're not blinded by the light from me."_  
In For The Kill - La Roux

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wednesday night comes around a lot faster than Zayn had anticipated.

He stalls until 7:50, hangs around the suite and listens to Ed play his guitar for a little bit. Louis' not around as much since the Harry incident last Friday and it's obvious that it's taking a toll on Harry; he drifts from room to room, quiet and sad. Nobody talks about it, nobody asks where Louis goes. He's gone from nine thirty in the morning when his first class starts until late, coming home when everyone has already retreated to their own rooms. He still sleeps in the same bed as Harry; Zayn knows this because one morning, Ed had ushered him over to their door and cracked it open so that they could see the two of them asleep, backs to each other but under the sames covers nonetheless. Zayn tells himself not to worry about it, to just let things be. It's none of his business. Relationships rarely make sense. 

“You should go,” Harry says, looking at the clock. “You'll be late.”

Ed whistles. “AKL. You're about to head into the Promised Land, my friend.”

Zayn grimaces at them as he gets up out of his beanbag. Ever since finding out, Harry and Ed have been building this night up to ridiculous proportions. It feels like punishment for Zayn, but the other two seem to think it's some sort of reward. He glares at Ed as he starts playing his guitar and singing some obnoxious song. Harry gets up and grabs the lint roller, making Zayn's black skinny jeans look presentable. They practically shove him out the door with a notebook and pen in hand. He stands outside the closed door for a few more minutes, just listening to the soft melody of Ed's guitar. It's almost eight already but it takes him another two minutes to get his feet moving.

Alpha Kappa Lambda's house is hands down the nicest one Zayn passes on Greek Row. It's all red brick and white pillars with neat rows of windows on both floors. On the concrete leading up to the front porch, the fraternity's insignia is painted in bright, ostentatious colors, and the lawn surrounding the pathway is green and immaculately cut. The September night is muggy and all the windows are cracked open on the second floor, allowing the loud voices of the men inside to trickle out. From outside on the sidewalk, Zayn can hear excited shouts and the overall commotion expected from this sort of place. He feels even less inclined to go in.

“Zayn!” 

He turns around and is actually relieved to see Cher and Perrie heading down the sidewalk towards him. They're beaming at him like he's a fucking celebrity and when they reach him, they link their arms in his and lead him up the stairs to the front door, talking over each other as they explain to him this and that about how fraternities and sororities work. Their house, Kappa Kappa Gamma, is just down the street, the one with the pink tulips. He doesn't really listen, but he's not really annoyed, either. He's a hard ass, he knows that, but he isn't unreasonable, really. He doesn't make friends easily and that's okay with him, but he can appreciate friendliness and kindness. Cher and Perrie have been nothing but nice to him so far and he's grateful for that.

At the door, Perrie punches the doorbell and they wait until a guy opens the door. He's holding a beer bottle in his hand and his snapback is backwards on his head. 

“Cherrie!” he shouts, gesturing them in with open arms. 

The two girls laugh and tug Zayn through the door into the foyer, where the guy promptly wraps his arms around all three of them. He reeks of beer and is clearly intoxicated; it isn't hard to tell, seeing as he's dancing around in circles with all three of them securely enveloped in his arms. Zayn says nothing, just watches the bottle the guy still has in his hand, held precariously over their heads. 

“Okay, Brent,” a voice interrupts, “let them go.”

Brent does as he's told and Zayn steps out of the guy's reach, breathing in a sigh of relief. Liam is coming down the huge curved staircase towards them, smiling despite the fact that his guests had nearly suffocated thanks to one of his members. 

“Just saying hello to Cherrie and this guy,” Brent says jovially, waving his bottle at them. 

“Cher and Perrie, not Cherrie,” Liam corrects, rolling his eyes. He pats Zayn's back once he's close enough and gives him a reassuring smile. “I forgot to mention that tonight's Wasted Wednesday. Sorry about that. Things might be a bit crazy.”

Zayn nods, doesn't ask. 

'Crazy' ends up being an understatement.

The group of four start off in the den area but are quickly driven out by a group of boisterous members who insist that the new episode of 'The Walking Dead' is more important than a sociology project, nearly causing Liam to have an aneurysm. Having lost the battle, he shoots the group a nasty glare as he leads the other three out of the room. The house looks lovely on the outside, but it's becoming fairly obvious that all of its glory lies in its exterior. The house is messy throughout, with random shit lying around everywhere. Cleaned up, Zayn thinks, it would be pretty nice. 

Liam apologizes as they make their way down a cramped hallway, stepping over the most crushed beers cans Zayn has ever seen outside of an outdoor concert venue. “The pledges haven't been doing a very good job, obviously.” 

“Pledges are the new members who haven't been initiated,” Perrie explains. “They do all the dirty work.”

“So I'm guessing you're a, uh … upperclassman?” Zayn asks, pressing himself flat against the wall to allow a guy to trundle pass. 

“Yep, junior,” Liam says. “Although, technically, I have enough credits to be considered a senior.”

He lets them into a room with a rather large TV and a black leather couch. Zayn glances down a small corridor to see that there's a bedroom further in the back, with a bathroom attached. Unlike the rest of the house, this area is neat and orderly. There's an aquarium on a table by the TV and Zayn walks over to it and peers inside; there's a fairly large turtle inside, resting under a bright lamp. Beside the aquarium, an intricately made glass pipe lies on the table with some weed still pressed inside. Liam may be the most confusing person he has ever met. 

“What's your major?” Zayn asks, looking over his shoulder at the man, who's busy clearing a stack of text books off of the coffee table. 

Liam looks up and smiles. “Civil engineering. I'm taking Soc. 101 'cause it seemed like something useful to have learned, you know?”

Zayn stares at him for a few more seconds before turning back around to stare down at the turtle. He'd signed up for the class because it transferred over to his home university. He hadn't actually wanted to take it, seeing as it had no connection to his major. Liam is definitely the weirdest person he's ever met. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The four of them settle around the glass coffee table, books spread out in front of them with Liam's laptop open. Zayn's frazzled nerves smooth out eventually once they get to working. Concentrating on the project means keeping his mind off of the fact that he's sitting in the president's room of an American fraternity with the sounds of drunk pandemonium coming from all around them. By the time the clock strikes nine o'clock, it's clear that 'Wasted Wednesday' is getting into full swing. Zayn can make out the sounds of female voices mixing in with the male and apparently the party starts spilling out into the hallway outside. Liam lets out a frustrated sigh and leans back against the couch with his eyes squeezed shut.

“Sorry, guys,” he says, “this is really embarrassing.”

Cher frowns. “Li, calm down. This happens every Wednesday. It's not like they're being loud to give you a hard time.”

“I know but I told them to stay out of the hallway. There's plenty of space to get trashed elsewhere in this house.” 

With that, Liam gets to his feet and disappears out the door, shutting it behind him. They can hear him trying to steer the merrymakers out of the hallway and failing quite miserably; someone tell him to 'stop being a Payne in the ass' and a chorus of laughter erupts, as if it's the cleverest thing to have ever been said. 

“Liam doesn't drink,” Cher says, rolling her eyes. “Says he's missing a kidney or some bullshit.”

“So he just does drugs instead,” Perrie adds, smiling like it's the sweetest thing in the world.

Zayn blinks at them for a few seconds, then excuses himself and wanders into the bathroom, suddenly finding his bladder painfully full. He's in the middle of washing his hands when he hears an argument begin in the room where the rest of the group is. Liam's saying something in an angry voice and another male is responding in a much less agitated tone. Once or twice he hears a female voice pop up, probably Cher or Perrie. He can't quite make out what they're all talking about but all of a sudden the doorknob of the bathroom starts jiggling madly. 

“Bro!” A voice comes through the door and Zayn freezes. “I need to take a piss!”

The doorknob vibrates even harder and Zayn lunges for it, flipping the lock open. Before he can even do it himself, the door flies open and Zayn's sent backwards as a body shoves past him. He ends up grabbing onto the shower curtain to keep himself from falling down and luckily doesn't rip it completely off the bar. He manages to get to his feet and stares, stunned, at the man who'd nearly knocked him to the ground in his haste to get to the toilet. 

The man's shorter than he is but built far more solidly, although not at all what could be considered fat. He's wearing a baggy red tank over a pair of dark jeans and Nike high-tops. He's pretty lean, overall, as evidenced by the way his biceps flex as he moves. He also has a shock of blonde hair that has to be out of a box. It's messy and pushed up off his forehead, looking like something Ed would've styled. Zayn doesn't see his face until he's done pissing and has his pants zipped up. When he turns around, Zayn sees a pair of bright blue eyes and sparkling white teeth.

“Oh, sorry about that, man,” he says, just as Liam comes barging in, out of breath. 

“Niall, you fuck! You couldn't wait until Zayn left the room before whipping out your dick?”

Niall purses his lips, looks disappointed. “Whoa there, Li. He didn't see anything. Plus, I'm sure he's got a dick himself. Isn't that right … Zayn, was it?”

Liam lets out a frustrated groan and ushers both men out of the bathroom. Niall winks at Zayn as he brushes past, his blue eyes sparkling merrily. Zayn's sort of awestruck; he's met some pretty interesting people so far but this guy takes the cake. He can't tell if the guy is just that drunk or if he's normally this fucking bold.

“Okay, out,” Liam says to Niall, opening the door and pointing. 

“Li, I thought you were my best friend.” Niall gives him a pitiful look but does as he's told, shooting Zayn a smug little smile before disappearing out into the hall.

Liam slams the door closed behind him, turns and gives Zayn an apologetic smile. It seems to be a look he's got perfected. 

“Let's get back to work, shall we?”

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Two days later and Zayn still can't get the guy – Niall – out of his head, it seems. He starts to irrationally hate the blonde for taking up so much space in his head. He finds himself thinking about the guy at the oddest times, that smug winking face cropping up in his mind when he least expects it. Harry and Ed pick up on his distraction almost instantly; he's even more withdrawn than usual and has to return to the suite to grab something he'd forgotten at least twice every morning. He's not sure what it is about Niall that stuck with him. He's not the most attractive guy that he's ever seen, not even close, really, yet … 

“Zayn. Zayn. Zayn.” Harry's voice pushes into his thoughts, the annoying repetition of his own name bringing him back to Earth. 

“Harry.” 

“What are you thinking about?” Harry drapes himself over the arm of the couch and rests his chin on Zayn's bent knees. 

Zayn sinks further into his beanbag, shrugs. “Nothing. Coursework.”

“Not uh,” Harry replies. 

Louis' still not showing his face around very often and Harry has gone from stray puppy mode to stray puppy that followed someone home mode. He sticks to Zayn and Ed like he's afraid they, too, will leave him behind if he lets them out of his sight. It's pretty pathetic and sad, so Zayn lets Harry drag him out to the dark courtyard behind the dorm almost every night to smoke with him, even though he'd sworn off pot and cigarettes before coming to the states. 

Zayn contemplates Harry's hopeful face for a minute, taking in the big green eyes and the pouty lips. Harry's attractive, like fucking gorgeous, but he's not Zayn's type, personality-wise. Too messed up, too clingy, too sweet and breakable. He's always liked a challenge, the type of person who sets him on edge. Harry's not a challenge. Zayn just feels the need to protect him. Plus, nobody knows he likes guys here and although it's clear that Harry swings that way as well, he doesn't know if he should just announce it out of the blue when Harry's face is so close to his crotch. 

“Let's play a game,” Harry suddenly says, raising his eyebrows. “I tell you a secret, then you tell me one.”

“That's not a game,” Zayn says. “That's just us swapping secrets, yeah?”

“Think of it as an icebreaker,” Harry replies. 

Zayn shrugs, not sure what he's talking about but accepting it nonetheless. He's good at lying. And he's done enough stuff that might be considered a secret but isn't a source of shame to keep this 'game' going. 

“I'll start,” Harry says. “When I was fourteen, I slept with my mom's friend from college. She was my mom's maid of honor and everything.”

Zayn raises his eyebrows in surprise. “How old was she?”

“Probably late forties, something like that?” Harry says after some thought. “It was a one time thing. We were both drunk off wine. It was okay, I guess. Your turn.”

Zayn pauses, thinks about it. He's not sure how he wants to play this. Start off big or small? 

“Once, when I was sixteen, I did two lines of cocaine at a club my friends and I snuck into and danced for five hours straight.” 

Harry looks impressed and murmurs his appreciation. “Okay, um. The first time Louis and I ever hooked up, I gave him a blowjob in the dorm bathroom.” He flushes.

Zayn laughs. “Anyone see you?” 

“No, I don't think so. One person came in and got into the stall next to us so Lou stood on the toilet seat so it looked like there was just one person in ours.” They share a laugh over this, but Zayn doesn't miss the sad look in Harry's eyes at the thought of Louis. 

“Okay …” Zayn pauses and tries to come up with something. He has a good number of things he could say, but most of them have to do with men - or a man in particular – and he knows he's just not ready to tell Harry any of it. But it doesn't seem fair to just stop the game now when Harry's already told him another secret. “One time, I slept with a girl for a bottle of rum.”

It's a lie, a total lie – he'd slept with the girl for a totally different reason, but he could never tell Harry the truth. 

“Wow.” Harry laughs. “I hope the rum was good? Or at least the sex?”

Zayn laughs too, sounding fake to his own ears. “Both were alright.”

The game dies out after just those four secrets but Zayn's relieved. Harry's eyes start drooping so he insists that Harry lie properly on the couch, which he does. Zayn drapes a blanket over him and then sits back down in his beanbag. He grabs his phone (Ed had taken him to finally get one, saying it was necessary for emergencies) and scrolls through his texts. Ed's out with some friends from his major and won't be coming back until late, and of course he gets no texts from Louis. It's a quiet Friday night overall, which is nothing new. He hasn't gone to an official party yet, just a get-together with some of Harry's friends at an apartment off campus. Harry had gotten drunk, of course, and Zayn had half-carried him back to the dorms, but it hadn't been anything crazy, no cops had been pounding down the door. 

The door opens around midnight and Zayn, having dozed off, jerks awake to find Louis trying to sneak through the common area without being noticed. Usually, he would've just let Louis go in peace, but tonight, Zayn feels a bit spiteful. He'd seen Harry's fallen face at the mention of Louis. It wasn't fair to punish the guy over one night. 

“Louis.” 

At the sound of his name, Louis freezes and then spins around slowly. Their eyes meet and Zayn catches a flash of annoyance in the other's eyes. 

“What?” 

“Where've you been, mate?” Zayn asks, trying to sound cordial. 

Louis is having none of it, however. “None of your fucking business.”

Zayn tells himself to stay calm, to stay level-headed. He's never been a temperamental person but Louis brings out the worst in him. “Just haven't seen you around much, that's all.”

“What's it to you?” Louis snaps before storming over to the couch and shaking Harry's shoulder roughly. “Harry.”

Harry blinks awake and then sits up, staring at Louis through sleepy eyes. He reaches up to touch Louis' face as if to check if he's real but Louis jerks back, his expression hard. 

“Let's go to bed.”

Harry obeys immediately, swinging his long legs off the couch and getting to his feet. He trails after Louis to their bedroom but stops in the doorway and gives Zayn a small wave before going in and closing the door behind him. 

Zayn had told himself on the plane over that he wouldn't get attached and he wouldn't start feeling for other people. He knows he's failed because his heart hurts for Harry.


	5. Feel Alive

  
_"Meet me under shining lights. I've been waiting right_  
 _here all my life. Feelings you can't deny that you're_  
 _living, open up your eyes. And I just wanna sink into_  
 _your crazy laughter. Come on make me feel until the_  
 _pain don't matter."_  
Alive - Krewella

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**From: Liam Payne**  
hey it's liam. we're having a party at akl tonight if u want to come?

 **To: Liam Payne**  
I actually promised to hang out with my roommates tonight. ):

 **From: Liam Payne**  
well they can come if they want just give me their names. the partys at nine.

 **To: Liam Payne**  
Okay - Harry Styles, Ed Sheeran, Louis Tomlinson. I guess I'll see you then!

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It might be the dumbest decision Zayn has ever made.

Harry and Ed are ecstatic at the news; they look at each other with wide eyes like two kids who've been told that Santa Claus is coming down the chimney right at that moment. They ask Zayn a million questions, like is there a theme and what's the house like inside and how many girls will be there (the last query is all Ed). Zayn ends up snapping at them, asking them if he looks like a bloody expert on fraternities. Unfazed, the two just laugh and he goes from feeling like a pitbull to a poodle. He used to be able to scare people with just one cool gaze. Apparently his strategy of intimidation doesn't work on Americans. 

The only one who's as skeptical as Zayn is Louis. To be honest, Zayn hadn't really wanted to invite Louis along, but he knew better than to snub his roommate so obviously. Plus, he's pretty sure that Harry wouldn't go without Louis and if anyone needs a fun night out, it's Harry. As they discuss the AKL party happening that very night, Louis just sits sullenly on the couch, arms crossed and eyes focused on anything but the other three men in the room. Zayn's acutely aware of his discomfort and disgruntlement with the situation, but he doesn't bother mentioning it. He doesn't give a shit if Louis wants to go or not; they all know he'll go no matter how much he acts like he doesn't want to. 

They leave the dorm at 9:45, because as Ed says, arriving late is common practice at all parties. It's a given to show up no earlier than half an hour after the starting time. They make the short trek to Greek Row in high spirits. Harry skips around them with a backpack full of beer slung onto him, looking happier than Zayn has seen him in weeks. He's a bit afraid that Harry will go too crazy again and piss Louis off some more, but he chooses to stay positive. He's already nervous, he doesn't want to be worried sick either. Harry's a grown man, he tells himself, he can take care of himself. Or Louis at least will, hopefully. 

Everyone seems to have had the same idea as them; there's a line out in front of AKL. They wait patiently and Zayn takes the time to make sure that his red flannel shirt and dark jeans are in their proper place. Harry is dressed similarly to him, except his flannel shirt is navy blue and unbuttoned to reveal a white v-neck underneath. Ed's in a plain green t-shirt and Louis' undeniably the most fashionable one in his jean button-up shirt and tight khaki pants. He looks like a model, Zayn has to admit, looking all sulky with his hands in his pockets and one hip cocked slightly. He's barely said a word the entire night. 

The guy sitting at the table on the patio looks so far from thrilled at being the designated bouncer that Zayn almost feels pity for him. The four of them line their school I.D.s in front the guy and he flips through the pages of a stapled stack of papers hurriedly, looking for their names. He crosses off Zayn's name first with a quick flick of his wrist, then finds the other three in alphabetical order. When he gets to Louis' name, he hesitates and glances up for the first time, his eyes narrowed slightly as he scrutinizes Louis. 

“Tomlinson? As in the guy who the business building is named after?” 

Louis rolls his eyes then gives the guy the sassiest look Zayn has seen him make yet. “It's named after my father.”

The guy nods and then strikes through Louis' name on the list before ushering them past. 

Behind him, Zayn hears Harry say to Louis, “You didn't have to be such an asshole to him. He was just asking.”

Louis's reply comes after a pause. “Sorry, _hun_. I'll try to behave.” His voice drips with venomous sarcasm. 

The foyer of the house is packed with people. Zayn immediately starts feeling claustrophobic as bodies press up against him, their combined body heat overpowering. He glances over his shoulder to see Louis and Harry following close at his heels. Ed has already branched off, talking to a girl who seems to know him; they're laughing with their heads bent close together. Zayn, Harry and Louis start moving towards the living room, which has been turned into a dance floor. There are multi-colored strobe lights swirling over everything and apparently there are boxes erected in the middle of the room because Zayn can see four or five girls elevated a good foot above everybody else, grinding on each other and holding their drinks aloft. 

He hadn't meant to head this way but he can't back out now; the flood of people behind him push forward until he's swallowed up by the mass of dancing bodies. He looks around for Harry and Louis, but they've disappeared. Zayn closes his eyes for a moment, then turns in a full circle, looking around for someone he recognizes. Liam is up at the DJ booth, glaring at the DJ, who is an AKL member, if the proud t-shirt emblazoned with the cryptic phrase “AKL: We Build Great Men” is anything to go by. He's bobbing his head as he plays some profanity-laden rap song which is probably the reason why Liam is pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. To be fair, it's a party. Songs with cursing and allusions to sex are inevitable.

Zayn gravitates back toward the foyer of the house, allowing a couple of girls to pull him into a dance before he makes it out. There seems to be a flow of people going in and out of the house at a constant rate, making it impossible to stand in one place for any prolonged amount of time. It also seems like everyone knows each other. The air is filled with greetings and excited yells of recognition. To say Zayn feels a bit out of place would be an understatement. He can't see Ed, Harry or Louis and as far as he knows, Liam is still up at the booth babysitting the DJ. 

He's almost relieved when a pair of hands come from behind and cover his eyes as a familiar voice chirps, “Guess who!”

He pretends to think about it, the most he's humored someone in a long while before replying, “Cher?”

The brunette laughs and drops her hands and Zayn turns to face her. She's looking nice, in a pink polka-dotted halter crop top that shows a sliver of midriff and a pair of high-waisted shorts. Behind her, Perrie's grinning with an eyebrow raised. She's dressed similarly to Cher but in baby blue instead of pink, and Zayn thinks that if he could only find Harry, the four of them would make a great pair of outfit twins. 

“Liam said you were bringing friends. Where are they, then?” Perrie asks.

“Yeah, we won't believe you actually have friends besides us until we see them,” Cher adds, smirking.

Zayn's not sure how he feels about them calling themselves his “friends” but surprisingly enough, it's not an unpleasant uncertainty. They seem to pick up on his inability to form a good answer; both girls lace their arms in both of his and begin to pull him down a familiar hallway.

“You're too sober,” Cher says.

Some guy squeezes past the three of them and gives Zayn a lascivious smile and thumbs up as he takes in the three of them, Zayn sandwiched in between two attractive females. Perrie and Cher roll their eyes, identical looks of disgust on their faces.

“Fucking creep.”

“Eleanor would've kicked his ass if she saw that.”

Zayn's about to ask who this feisty Eleanor is but then they're pushing open the door of Liam's room and he finds himself enveloped in a cloud of pot smoke. He blinks comically as he's hit with the pungent aroma of weed. In the room already are three girls, two sitting on the couch and one seated on the floor by the coffee table with her legs tucked daintily under her. They all look at up at Zayn with curious eyes. He feels an uncomfortable smile break out on his face. One of the girls on the couch has long, dark hair in impeccable curls. She looks at Zayn with an unreadable, almost imperious expression. The girl next to her has platinum dyed hair and tan skin like Zayn's that hints at mixed ethnicity. She has on bright red lipstick and her teeth are dazzling white when she grins at Zayn. The girl sitting on the floor has a head full of tight curls and is pretty in an understated way. She tilts her head and smiles slightly at Zayn.

“Girls,” Perrie announces, pushing Zayn forward, “this is Zayn.”

The three women look at each other and nod, making noises of recognition at the name. Zayn feels himself flush; so maybe girls aren't his thing, but it doesn't mean the attention doesn't ruffle him. 

Cher begins to point at each girl. “The brunette over there is Eleanor. The blonde is Rita. The curly-haired one is Danielle.”

Eleanor raises an eyebrow at Zayn. “I'm president of Kappa Kappa Gamma. We do a lot of joint functions with AKL so if you're planning on becoming friends with Liam then be prepared to see a lot of me.”

Zayn immediately pegs her as the sassy, no-nonsense type. 

Rita's tone is much more pleasant as she says, “And I'm in Delta Gamma, just so you know. Eleanor's my lovely girlfriend, that's why I'm here at this nasty old frat. Nice to meet you, by the way.”

Zayn nods, hiding the shock at the easy way in which she'd labelled her relationship with Eleanor. He was _not_ prepared for that. 

The last girl, Danielle, studies Zayn before speaking. “I don't live in a house. GDI and all. Nice to meet you as well.”

Perrie smirks. “Danielle is Liam's drug dealer.”

Danielle just shrugs, unabashed. 

Before anybody can say another word, the door opens and Liam comes in, Niall close behind him. Zayn feels his heart jerk violently in his chest. Niall is wearing another man tank, navy blue with a brand logo splashed across the front this time, and has a snapback backwards on his head. He has a red and blue can of beer in his hand and is chugging from it as he follows Liam into the room. Liam stops when he sees all the people crowded into his room, then takes a big sniff.

“It's become a VIP lounge in here,” he says. 

"The perks of being president," Eleanor says, making a sweeping gesture around the room.

“I brought what you wanted,” Danielle says, unfolding her legs like a fawn and getting to her feet.

Zayn doesn't miss the way Liam's eyes watch every graceful move the girl makes. She definitely flows more than she walks, which Zayn can at least appreciate. She looks like a girl who's learned how to hold herself. Danielle rifles through a purse sitting by the turtle tank and pulls out a baggie of white pills. She walks over to Liam and hands them over, all business. Liam just stands there looking from Danielle to the drugs in his hand before nodding and shoving his hand into his pocket. He pulls out a wad of cash and passes it over to Danielle, who takes it without a word. 

“Well, maybe Liam can chill out now,” Niall pipes up as he sets the can on the floor and cleanly crushes it with one stomp. “He almost took Danny's DJ privileges away.”

Liam grimaces and looks at Niall. “Did you _hear_ what he was playing?”

“What? What were you expecting?” Niall asks with a laugh. “Justin Bieber? Enya? Celine Dion? Aretha -”

“Okay, we get it,” Liam interrupts. 

Zayn realizes that he's been staring at Niall like a starstruck idiot and immediately averts his eyes. He swears Niall smiled smugly at him before he could look away but maybe he was just imagining it. Eleanor and Rita scoot closer together on the couch and Eleanor looks pointedly at Danielle, who promptly takes the spot. The three guys lower themselves down around the table as Cher and Perrie perch on the arms of the couch. Danielle produces a little pipe from her purse. She looks at each person carefully, gauging their reactions and nodding when she sees that everyone's comfortable with what's about to go down. She takes out a pill bottle and opens it to reveal several buds of weed. She packs the pipe quickly and efficiently before passing it to Eleanor, who takes the lighter Danielle offers her. They all watch as she takes a deep inhalation and holds it in for a moment before exhaling a big, white puff of smoke. 

The pipe goes around until it finally reaches Zayn, who takes a hit and then turns to pass it over to Niall, who raises his eyebrows at Zayn and smiles. Zayn feels something erupt in his stomach and he sort of hates himself for it ( _butterflies? Really?_ ). He watches closely as Niall takes a deep suck off the colorful glass piece and then lets the smoke pour out of his nose. Once he's done, he looks over at Zayn and smirks before passing the pipe over to Liam. They're sitting so close that if either of them moved an inch or two to the side, they'd touch shoulders. Zayn wonders if he should close the gap or if he just feels the need to be closer because he's already stoned. That weed is some strong shit. 

Within a half an hour, they're all giggly, even Eleanor. Rita keeps running her hand through Eleanor's hair and inspecting each glossy curl with careful attention. Danielle taps her foot to the music coming from the iPod Liam had plugged in earlier; it's some early Selena Gomez stuff but even Niall's bobbing his head to it. Zayn moves his hand a bit and accidentally brushes Niall's. With a nearly inaudible gasp, Zayn takes his hand back like he'd been shocked and looks up at Niall to see the other man grinning at him. With another one of those winks, Niall reaches over and lays his hand over Zayn's, the dry warmth of his skin encompassing Zayn's. The coffee table hides the fact that they're touching and for that, Zayn is thankful. His head is fuzzy and he's not sure what to do or say. 

At some point, Eleanor gets to her feet and helps Rita up. “We're going to go dance for a while.”

“We'll go, too,” Cher chirps.

The four leave the room with identical fluttering waves directed at the remaining four. Liam gets to his feet and takes a seat on the couch at an almost painfully obvious distance from Danielle and her stunner legs. Zayn almost yells out some encouragement but he is _not_ that high. He will never be high enough to do that. Danielle and Liam fall into an easy conversation, leaving Zayn and Niall to their own devices. Niall's hand is still over Zayn's; it's almost suffocating. Zayn wants to say something, ask what the plan is, but he can't bring himself to speak. 

He's still trying to figure out how to escape this stifling situation when he feels a hot rush of air against his exposed neck. He shivers at the tantalizing sensation and turns his head to find himself right up in Niall's face. The blonde laughs softly and without any warning, leans forward all the way and presses a wet kiss against Zayn's lips before pulling away. Zayn blinks at him, speechless.

“I hope I haven't been misreading your stares,” Niall murmurs, his lips still inches away from Zayn's.

Zayn's eyes widen at the comment. “What? I mean … bloody hell.”

“I like when you speak British,” Niall says with a smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes before he ducks his head and presses his lips against Zayn's throat. 

Electric sparks shoot through Zayn's body at the sensation and his eyes flutter shut. It's been so, so long since he's gotten any sort of physical pleasure from another person. It's almost too much. He bites down on his lip, having forgotten all about Danielle and Liam, focusing completely on the feeling of Niall sucking gently at his skin. He can't tell if he's so stoned he'd passed out and started dreaming, or if this is real. 

Niall pulls away and runs his fingers over the wet marks he'd left on Zayn's skin. “I should go out and check on things.”

Zayn nods and they stand up together. Danielle and Liam glance up at them; clearly they hadn't noticed anything. They say their good-byes and emerge out into the crowded, loud hallway outside. Immediately, a chorus of greetings break out and Niall's pulled into a head lock by some burly guy. Zayn doesn't wait for him; he just scoots on by and retraces his steps out to the foyer. He'd forgotten all about his roommates. He glances around, straining his neck as he tries to look over and around people. He has no idea what time it is or if the other three are even still here. 

Eventually, he stumbles out onto the porch. He takes in several lungfuls of air, the fresh air instantly clearing his head. He jogs down the steps and heads down the walkway towards the sidewalk, set on heading home. Before he makes it down the walkway, he catches a glimpse of Louis. The other man is sitting on the lawn, his back up against a tree. His legs are stretched out in front of him and he looks almost relaxed in the position. Zayn approaches him slowly, his eyes meeting the other man's. Louis' face is expressionless.

“Sorry for disappearing,” Zayn apologizes. “Where are the other two?”

Louis runs his tongue along his top row of teeth, his eyes moving away from Zayn. “Dunno know. Getting drunk?”

Zayn can tell that something isn't right just by the tone of Louis' voice. Not his usual snarky snappiness but a hollowness that means he's pretending not to care when he cares too much.

“Louis -”

“I need to tell someone,” Louis cuts in, shaking his head. 

Zayn blinks. He has to be at least a little drunk. “Okay.”

“When I was in Spain, I cheated on Harry.”

A long silence ensues, the raucous noise of the AKL party as the backdrop. Then Zayn tells Louis his secret.


	6. Love Is Overrated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, sorry for taking so long to update this! My life is crazy with course work and life and I turned 21 so clearly you all know where I am during my free time ~ this chapter is insanely short but I'll try to get another one up as soon as I have some time to actually dedicate to writing a good chapter. Love you all ~

  
_"Love is overrated. I don't wanna take my time 'cause that gets complicated_  
 _and you get so, get so jaded. Please don't, please don't think we're dating."_  
Love Is Overrated - Shwayze

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next morning, Louis and Zayn stand next to each other at the kitchenette, quiet. They haven't become best mates or anything, but after last night, things seem lighter between them. They'd gone back to their dorm together last night and had hugged each other briefly before parting to their own rooms, as if saying to the other 'it'll be okay'. Maybe it will be, maybe it won't. Zayn isn't sure how either of their situations will work themselves out. 

Louis is fiddling with the coffee maker and Zayn is trying to scrub a plate Ed had left caked with some unidentifiable goo when Harry comes stumbling out of his room. He looks pretty awful and is probably feeling it as well.

“'Morning,” he mumbles, coming up behind Louis and wrapping his arms around the shorter man.

Zayn can _feel_ Louis tense up beside him. He glances at Louis from the corner of his eye and sees that his hands are frozen around the coffee pot and he's biting down on his lip. Zayn thinks that Louis is about to burst and just explode into a messy confession right then and there, but instead he turns and pulls Harry's face to his so he can press a quick kiss against his lips. It's not exactly what Zayn had been predicting but it's probably for the best. The last person who he wants to see crushed is Harry, especially at ten o'clock in the morning when he's this hungover.

“You taste like vomit,” Louis says, pulling out of Harry's grasp. 

Harry shrugs a bit, looking sheepish. “Might've puked last night.”

Louis sighs but says nothing in response, just turns back to the coffee machine. Harry doesn't release his hold around Louis' waist but averts his eyes to Zayn, who has given up on Ed's plate by this time and is just standing there, running water over his hands. 

“I met Liam last night,” Harry says cheerfully. “He's a nice guy. He let me throw up in his fancy bathroom.”

Zayn turns and leans against the counter so he can face Harry. There are dark eggplant-purple bags under his eyes and he looks tired but the smile on his face is genuine and vibrant. Zayn can't understand how Harry manages to do this, look so alive at the same time that he looks exhausted and worn out. When _he's_ hungover, Zayn tends to lie in bed for most of the day and make himself promise never to drink again. Apparently Harry's M.O. is very different. 

“Yeah, a bit odd that he's the president of a fraternity, innit?” Zayn replies.

Harry shrugs. “You've got to be patient to be one, I guess. Dealing with all those crazy bastards day in and day out.”

“Then I'd be the president of this suite,” Louis intones out of nowhere.

Zayn just stays expressionless while Harry chuckles and presses a kiss to the back of Louis' neck. Now that he knows about Louis' Spanish fuck-up, seeing Harry and Louis together has become even harder. However, he'll never tell Harry about what Louis did the way some people would. He's not nosey and he doesn't push his way into people's lives. That's just how he is. He likes to keep things clean and things are bound to get messy if you get too involved in someone else's life. As guilty as it makes it him, he knows that he'll keep Louis' secret not out of a sense of loyalty or respect but out of a selfish need to stay as detached as possible from other people and their mistakes.

Zayn is just about to go back into his bedroom when someone knocks on the door. The three of them fall silent, exchanging curious looks. They can't imagine who it might be; it isn't Ed without his keys - he's still asleep in bed. With a shrug, Zayn goes to the door and peeks through the peephole. At first, he can't quite believe his eyes and takes a step back, confused. He thinks about not opening it, just making everyone pretend like they're not home, but then Harry is flinging the soapy sponge at him, leaving a wet mark on his t-shirt and yelling at him to answer the door. 

Niall is standing there with what looks to be a hotdog wrapped in tinfoil in one hand and a flannel shirt in the other. He swallows the food he's currently chewing on and then gives Zayn a once over. Zayn immediately glances down at himself as well. He's wearing a t-shirt with Mr. Blobby on it and a pair of black joggers that pool around his ankles and incidentally, has a tear in the crotch seam that reveals a sliver of his purple boxer briefs. He's not exactly at his tip-top shape, he realizes this, but then again, this is a guy he barely knows and he has no right to be judging anybody else right now. He's eating a bloody _hot dog_ before noon, for christ's sake. 

“Liam says this belongs to one of you guys,” Niall says, unceremoniously sticking the flannel out to Zayn.

Zayn takes it and balls it up before flinging it over to Harry, who has detached himself from Louis and is now standing where he can see who's at the door. 

“Thanks! Don't remember taking this off!” Harry says gratefully before wandering off to his room. 

Zayn turns back to Niall, who has somehow finished the rest of his hot dog in the few moments that Zayn had his back turned. He wonders if Niall even remembers what they'd done last night or if it's just lost in the sinkhole of forgotten drunk mistakes. The way Niall is looking at him with those calm, unabashed blue eyes, Zayn thinks that it's probably the latter. He can't imagine any guy being that calm about having necked another bloke, unless the guy's already out, which Zayn doesn't really see Niall being. 

“Liam could've just handed that to me in class,” Zayn says, failing at coming up with anything else. “How'd you even know where we live?”

Niall sniffs loudly, shrugs. “It's my punishment. And Liam knows everything.” 

Zayn waits a bit before realizing Niall has no intention of elaborating on his own. “Punishment for what?”

“Accidentally lit a banner on fire last night.”

Zayn thinks back to both times he'd gone to AKL and faintly recalls a huge paper banner draped over the front door, mentioning some charity fundraiser the frat was throwing for kids with cancer. He doesn't quite understand how a banner elevated some eight to ten feet off the ground can be set on fire with anything less than careful deliberation. Unless there'd been flame throwers or a fire juggler that Zayn hadn't known about. 

He gives Niall a look of puzzlement. “How was that accidental?”

“It wasn't, actually,” Niall concedes shamelessly. “Brent and I were supposed to take it down last week now that the fundraiser is over, but we forgot and Liam was riding our asses about it. So Brent decided that it'd be faster to just burn it down. So I stood on his shoulders and …” Niall makes hand gestures that are apparently supposed to mimic something bursting into flames.

Zayn can't quite believe this lunacy. “Did someone call the fire station?”

“Yeah, some asshole pulled the fire alarm,” Niall replies, as if this person had made a completely absurd decision. “But someone pulls the alarm at least once a weekend so I think the firemen were stoked that there was actually something to do this time.”

Zayn's not sure what to say, which happens often, but he feels validated in being speechless right now.

“Well, I should get going,” Niall announces, crumpling the hot dog foil in both hands. 

“Oh, right, thanks for bringing the shirt over,” Zayn says as Niall begins heading off down the hall.

The blonde boy turns but doesn't stop walking as he calls out, “No problem. And sorry about the hickey, by the way.”

Zayn reaches up immediately and presses his fingers against his throat as Niall disappears around a corner, his laughter lingering behind. He feels like his blood has actually crystalized in his veins. After another moment of immobility, Zayn slams the door shut and then rushes to the vanity mirror, tugging down the hem of his t-shirt. He feels Louis hovering somewhere behind him but he's too busy pressing a finger down on the purple bruise that mars the skin by his collarbone to care. 

“Well, he did a number on you,” Louis comments. 

Zayn glares at him via the mirror and lets his shirt fall back into place, concealing the mark. 

“I don't want to hear anything out of you.”

Louis scoffs. “I almost didn't believe you when you told me about – _you know_ – last night. Pegged you as a ladies' man through and through.”

Zayn sighs deeply as he turns away from the mirror. “Yeah, well, believe me now?”

“Yeah, of course.” Louis smirks devilishly. “What're you going to do next?”

“What do you mean?” Zayn asks carefully, not liking the look on Louis' face.

“Blondie clearly remembers what you two got up to last night. Couldn't even see the hickey but he called it.”

“It's just a hickey,” Zayn argues. “Doesn't mean we're meant to be.”

Louis raises his eyebrows and starts towards his room. “That's how Harry and I started off, you know. Innocent little hickey. See where we are now?”

Zayn decides not to be nasty and mention the whole cheating thing, but he can't let Louis completely off the hook, so he says, “Yeah, Niall and I will find ourselves in a bathroom sometime soon, sucking each other off.”

Before he disappears into his room, Louis stops and shoots Zayn a glower. “Harry told you about that?”

Zayn just smirks in reply.


	7. I Love It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter was written pretty quickly and coincidentally, it's also one with smut so ugh, bear with me. It's probably the least sexiest thing you may ever read but hey, there's always room for improvement! Enjoy!

  
_"I crashed my car into the bridge. I watched, I let it burn. I threw_  
 _your shit into a bag and pushed it down the stairs. I crashed my_  
 _car into the bridge. I don't care, I love it."_  
I Love It - Icona Pop

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Zayn wakes up one Monday morning with tears running down the sides of his face. 

It happens sometimes. He usually just gets up, brushes them off and then goes about his day. On this particular morning, he curls his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around them, pressing his chest against his bony kneecaps. He knows that it's not really a good thing that he still dreams about him but sometimes it's nice to see his face, even if it is when he's asleep and none of it's real. It's a strange comfort and it makes him feel closer to home, closer to his old life. Sure, he hadn't always been happy and sometimes he'd gone to bed feeling like utter shit, but in a weird way, it had all made sense. Here in America, nothing makes sense. 

When he walks into sociology several hours later, he's met with bright, welcoming grins from Liam, Cher and Perrie. They've become friends of sorts, which still befuddles Zayn to no end. He doesn't understand how and why he fits in with those three; they're bright and vivacious, while he's just … Zayn. Moody, quiet, secretive. He knows that people say opposites attract but that has never really rung true for him. Everyone that he has ever been attracted to have been similar to him in the things that he'd always considered important. So he doesn't understand how this friendship is working out. 

“Hey,” Liam says as Zayn lowers himself onto the chair next to him. “How was your weekend?”

The AKL party Zayn and his roommates had gone to had occurred about three weeks ago, and to be quite honest, nothing of any real excitement had happened since then. Most of the time, he just stays in with Harry and Ed, playing video games or watching TV while Louis goes out with friends from his major. Nobody discusses the fact that Harry and Louis no longer act like a couple. They don't even act like best friends anymore, actually. He won't say it out loud, but Zayn is waiting for the day Louis moves his stuff out of their shared room and takes the vacant one as the final 'we're over' statement.

“Good,” Zayn replies with a shrug, flipping his notebook open. He feels Liam's eyes on him.

“So.”

“So.”

“Niall's been talking about you.”

Zayn feels a jolt of electricity strike through him at the mention of the blonde boy's name but he doesn't even flinch on the outside. His eyes just stay focused on the professor and it's almost like he hadn't even heard Liam. He's actually not sure as to how he should respond to this nugget of information. He's always been bad with this sort of stuff. Whenever someone tells him that somebody else fancies him, he's usually just struck dumb, not sure if he should act flattered or embarrassed. So he tends to just shut down so he doesn't have to be either. 

All he says is: “Really?” 

That's enough for Liam to feel like he's been given the go-ahead. “Yeah, he has. After that party, you know? I think he's interested in you.”

Zayn furrows his brows at this. “Interested in me?”

“Yeah. He likes you.” Liam says this with some impatience, like Zayn should be embracing this with full acceptance and not total confusion. “He told me to invite you over to the house again sometime.”

“Sorry if I, like, don't quite get this,” Zayn whispers as the professor begins lecturing. 

“Don't get what?” Liam leans his head sideways so that their heads are basically touching. 

“The fact that Niall … _likes_ me.” 

“Oh, right,” Liam laughs softly. “Yeah, he's gay. Or bisexual. Which I believe. I've walked in on him enough times to know that he's equally interested in both.”

Zayn falls silent, digesting this information. Niall is … _bisexual?_ He doesn't know a lot about the culture of fraternities, but from the two times he's been in one, he's come to the conclusion that they're not necessarily flying the rainbow flag high. Not to say that he doesn't think they're not accepting. He just doesn't see frats being the easiest place to come out. There just seem to be a lot of … _guy_ vibes, not gay vibes. 

“Is that common knowledge?” Zayn asks, his head bumping against Liam's.

“Yeah,” Liam murmurs. “It's not like … advertised or anything, but basically everybody knows that if you want commitment-free sex, then Niall's the one to go to, whether you're a guy or a girl. A lot of guys stuck in the closet go to Niall. He's discreet about it.”

Zayn frowns deeply. Liam's made Niall sound like an ATM or something. Just step right up, get what you want and then walk away knowing nobody has any idea what sort of transaction you've just completed. 

“Liam,” Zayn says, not hiding his annoyance, “you tell me that this bloke likes me and then you go on to say that basically he's the school slag?”

Liam looks at Zayn and purses his lips, looking disappointed. “He's a nice guy.”

“I'm not saying he's not, I'm just saying that if all of these people are into him then why should I feel special if he's _interested_?”

Liam sighs loudly, causing people to glance over at him with curiosity. 

“Look, okay, so he has a lot of people lining up to get in his bed. But what makes _you_ special,” Liam pokes Zayn rather hard in the chest for emphasis, “is that he's actively seeking you out. He never does that.”

Zayn looks down at his notebook, devoid of any notes. “Oh.”

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

That Friday, Zayn gets stuck with a code red friend emergency.

Louis finally does it, he moves all of his stuff out of his and Harry's room and into the empty one. He does it when Harry's in class so that by the time Harry gets back, he's escaped and out doing who knows what for the night. Zayn and Ed have to watch as Harry practically crumbles to the floor at the sight. As Harry sits against the bureau with his forehead pressed against his knees, Zayn and Ed look around the room. It's obvious that one half of its occupants is now gone. Most of the clothing is off the floor and missing, the pile of textbooks on the desk is gone, the row of shoes is no longer lined up at the foot of the bed, and one pillow is now left without its mate next to it. This _feels_ like a break-up and Zayn's not even the one going through it.

“Hey, I'm really sorry, but can you handle this?” Ed mumbles, turning away from Harry so that he's less audible. “I promised I'd go over to my friend's for his birthday and ...”

Despite his words, Zayn can see that Ed is genuinely concerned for Harry and sincerely sorry that he can't stick around to see this out. He nods and Ed ekes out a weak smile before he goes over to Harry and crouches down next to his friend. He says something that Zayn can't hear then gets to his feet once he's done running a comforting hand through Harry's curls. He shoots Zayn a grateful look as he leaves the room. Once the main door shuts, signaling Ed's departure, Zayn goes and sits down next to Harry, who is oddly silent. 

“Talk to me,” Zayn murmurs, leaning sideways so that their shoulders touch. He's not really a comforting type. But he'll try his best. 

“I was expecting this,” Harry replies, his voice steadier than Zayn had expected it to be. “I'm not even surprised, really.”

Zayn bites his lip and sighs. 

“What I don't understand is why. _Why_ is he pushing me away like this?” Harry asks, lifting his head so that Zayn can see his frustration. There aren't any tears in his green eyes, just pure confusion and anger. 

Zayn wants to clap a little bit. About time.

“You need to ask him, mate. Not me.” 

Harry sighs and nods, then slumps towards Zayn so that his head rests on his shoulder. Zayn sighs too and lets his head rest on top of the other's. It should feel odd, being this close to someone, but it doesn't. It's not exactly enjoyable or anything, but it isn't bad. He doesn't mind it. So they just sit there quietly, thinking their separate thoughts. Zayn is resigned to the fact that this his life tonight, which isn't really that depressing of a thought seeing as he does nothing on his weekends anyways. This isn't a huge deviation from normal. It's just a little sadder than normal.

They're both half-asleep against each other when someone starts pounding on the door of the suite. They both bolt upright, shooting each other confused looks. The alarm clock on the bedside table reads midnight and the look they exchange says that neither are expecting guests. It's always a big deal when someone comes by their suite; all of them (save for Zayn, of course) tend to get unnecessarily excited, like they think there's a game show host waiting outside with a check the size of a convertible. 

Zayn gets to his feet with a sigh and Harry gives his calf an encouraging squeeze as he leaves the room. The pounding continues and Zayn hastens his step, reaching out for the doorknob and leaning his body forwards to open it. He's not really sure what to expect and reminds himself the moment the door creaks open that he really needs to start checking the peephole before just swinging the door open for anyone. 

Before he can even properly take in whoever's standing out in the hall, Zayn is being plowed backwards in the wall behind him, his back colliding with the hard surface. He lets out a surprised shout as a body plasters itself to his front and he instinctively twists his own body away from his aggressor. Which only succeeds in him ending up facing the wall, his entire front squished up against it and his cheek pressed against the rough surface. His heart is beating rapidly in his chest and he's sure that he's about to piss himself. A gust of hot air brushes against his ear and he hunches his shoulder with a shiver.

“Hey.”

He recognizes that voice. Immediately. His heart goes from racing rapidly to plummeting down to his gut.

“Niall? What the bloody fuck are you doing?” Zayn asks incredulously, trying but failing at looking over his shoulder at the other man, who currently has his body lined right up against his.

“I came to see you.” Niall lets out a chuckle and Zayn's hit with the smell of alcohol, which really just explains everything. “Wanted to surprise you.”

Zayn opens his mouth to say something but then Niall thrusts his hips forward, making him groan rather shamefully. He hears Harry calling his name and that gives him the strength he needs to ram his hips back against Niall, pushing him backwards and away. Zayn straightens himself up just in time as Harry comes into the common area, his green eyes curious as to what's causing the commotion. He takes in the sight of Zayn – flustered and trying to smooth out his t-shirt that's crumpled up in the back – and Niall, who's half slumped against the couch, biting his lip as he stares back at Harry. 

An awkward moment passes as all they all look at each other and try to avoid each others' eyes at the same time. Or maybe that's just Zayn. Maybe he's the only one feeling awkward right now.

“Hi, Niall,” Harry says uncertainly, furrowing his brows. 

Niall grins and Zayn can't help but notice how _white_ his teeth are. “Hey. We met at that party, right?”

Harry matches his grin and nods. “Yeah, we were both smashed but I guess we both remember!”

Zayn wants to interrupt them and say that yes, it's lovely that they remember each other and all, but there's still a private conversation that needs to take place between him and Niall. A conversation explaining why Niall is here and why he chose to slam Zayn up against the wall in greeting. 

Harry seems to take the unsaid hint after a few more seconds of silence and backs into his bedroom with a smile. “Okay, I'm going to go to bed. Nice to see you again, Niall. Night!” 

As soon as the door closes Niall is back on Zayn, hands against his shoulders as he starts pushing Zayn backwards into the nearest bedroom which is – thankfully – Zayn's. He doesn't want to have to make things more awkward by pushing Niall out and into the right one. The room is dark but neither of them even attempt to find the light switch; Niall is too busy trying to wrestle Zayn's shirt off of him and Zayn is too busy wondering if this is really going to happen right now. He must have gotten contact drunk from touching Niall because he cannot otherwise explain why he's allowing Niall to unbuckle his belt like he's dying of thirst and Zayn's carrying a water bottle in his pants. 

“Fuck,” Niall swears as Zayn's jeans drop to the floor, exposing the bulge hidden within his boxer briefs. 

Zayn begins chewing furiously on his lip as Niall backs him up until he's pressed against the window sill. He braces himself against the frame as Niall sinks to his knees, his fingers hooking onto the material of Zayn's briefs and yanking downwards. Zayn can't help the wanton moan that spills from between his parted lips. He doesn't understand why this is happening but it is, and he's not about to stop it. How long has it been since he had sex last? Ages, it seems. To be honest, sex had sort of been ruined for him but right now … _shit_ , sex is the only thing on his mind.

“Oh, fucking Christ,” Zayn says breathily as Niall's lips wrap around his cock, no hesitance present. 

He shuts his eyes tightly, taking in the sensation of the heat enveloping him, the wet warmth that Niall's mouth offers. He almost wants to cry from the pleasure and he's afraid that he'll blow embarrassingly fast if they keep up at this rate. He opens his eyes eventually and glances down with blurry eyes. Niall has his eyes closed but seems to feel Zayn's on him; he pulls Zayn's cock out of his mouth and grins up at him, lips sparkling in the light coming in through the window. He grasps Zayn tightly in one fist and smirks as he leans forward and licks a thick stripe up the underside of his cock. Zayn shudders and whimpers at the toe-curling pleasure that shoots through him. 

“S-stop for a second,” he stammers, reaching down and gripping Niall's shoulder tightly. 

Niall nods and gets to his feet, his face inches away from Zayn's. He reaches down and grabs the hem of his shirt before skimming it cleanly off of himself. He tosses the material to the side but then stumbles a bit, barking out a laugh as Zayn reaches forward and grabs onto his waist to steady him. They both smile at each other for a moment before Niall is pulling away and reaching down to his own belt. Zayn steps forward and swats his hands away before undoing it himself. He unbuttons, unzips and then pushes the pants down before stepping back to study Niall in his half-naked glory. He's standing there, staring back at Zayn with unabashed confidence. Zayn feels himself grow harder, if that's even possible. It's almost painful. No, it _is_ painful. 

“I need to you to fuck me,” Zayn says bluntly, for once okay with stating exactly what he wants. 

Niall looks up at Zayn's lofted bed then back to Zayn, one eyebrow raised.

“Not saying I don't want to, but your bed's a bit, uh … “ He searches for the right words, patting at his head in a rather comical way. “High? We'll get concussions.”

He's right and Zayn realizes this with a sinking heart. He flips through all of his possible options – out on the couch seems too risky, he can't just swap rooms with Harry (who doesn't even technically know that he's gay), Ed could come home at any time, and – 

Zayn grins. “Come on, then.”

He grabs Niall's hand and leads him out of the room, checking the common area before hurrying through it, his free hand clasped loosely over his exposed cock. He has to dart back into his room for the lube and condom but it takes him less than five seconds in his rush. They're laughing for no rational reason as he pushes Niall into the once-empty room that has now become Louis'. Louis's stuff is lying in haphazard heaps by the door and the bed is still bare, but there's a pile of blankets lying next to it. Zayn grabs a loose quilt and throws it over the mattress, satisfied with most of it covered. Niall collapses onto it immediately, dragging Zayn down onto it next to him. They're both breathless and high on the thrill of everything when their lips meet in a desperate kiss. 

“I've wanted you for a really long time,” Niall mumbles as Zayn tugs his briefs over his hips and down his legs. 

Zayn just looks at him and smiles deviously, tossing the underwear over his shoulder. He bows his head with every intention of returning the previous favor but Niall's hand shoots out and his fingers weave through Zayn's flat hair, tugging gently.

“I don't need that,” he says, eyes glimmering. “I just need to fuck you.”

Zayn acquiesces easily, shimmying his body up and over Niall's. They kiss roughly for a few more minutes, letting the tension build up before Niall breaks the little game they're playing and flips Zayn over onto his back. They look at each other for a moment; Zayn knows that Niall is still good and drunk, but he seems so _present_ , just in the way he's looking down at him with his intense stare. 

“Open yourself up for me,” Niall whispers, sounding almost reverent.

Zayn obeys easily again, grabbing the lube and spreading some hastily over his fingers. He pulls his legs back and reaches down without a beat of reluctance. He groans loudly at the first contact. Niall rips open the condom packet and rolls it onto himself as Zayn does as he's told. Niall loses his patience within a minute and before Zayn can say another word, his fingers are being knocked aside and Niall's pushing himself into Zayn's yielding body. 

They both moan at the very same time, their voices merging into a trembling crescendo. 

“Jesus, _fuck_ ,” Zayn groans as Niall thrusts into him with one deep, long stroke.

At this point, Harry in the next room over is gone from his mind, and if anyone were to ask him, he'd say that he doesn't give a shit if anyone can hear him. All he can feel, all he can think about is Niall and his cock pistoning in and out of him. He doesn't even have to touch himself; Niall's stomach keeps rubbing up against his cock with his back and forth motion, providing a delicious friction. 

“God,” Niall moans, the one syllable drawn out, indicative of the pleasure he's experiencing. 

Zayn briefly thinks about how many times they've already said the Lord's name in vain but he doesn't give a shit – he's not even religious. Niall braces himself over Zayn with both hands on either side of Zayn's head, his own head thrown back as he slams himself down into Zayn over and over. Zayn wraps his legs around the other man's hips and grabs onto Niall's sides, scrabbling for some sort of hold on his slick torso. He feels like he's crumbling, like at any moment every nerve in his body will spark and burst into oblivion, utter ruin. He swears he can he see stars erupt behind his tightly shut eyelids. 

He knows Niall is close when he starts making whimpering, mewling noises that should sound strange but only makes Zayn barrel faster towards the edge as well. He grips the sheets and arches his back as he bites down on his lip, trying to keep himself from being too loud. Niall doesn't have the same tact; he yells _'fuck!'_ rather loudly before coming, slumping down on top of Zayn, who comes moments later with a stifled cry between them. Their breathing is ragged, hearts pounding against their chests, pressed together. 

They're still trying to slow down their thundering hearts when the door flies open. 

Standing in the door with the light from the common area framing him is none other than Louis Tomlinson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what this is sajkldgkljfdgklfdjgfgfdgdfklhreihl.


	8. Cemeteries of London

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I haven't edited this properly, so there are probably mistakes but I'll go through it again later. Hopefully it's not total shit and you like it! Pretty damn angsty, I'm in one of those moods. And AT LAST, Zayn's secret comes out! Enjoy! xoxo

  
_"And the night over London rang so we rode down to the river_  
 _where the toiling ghosts strain for their curses to be broken._  
 _We’d go underneath the arches where the witches are in there saying,_  
 _there are ghost towns in the ocean, the ocean."_  
Cemeteries of London - Coldpay.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The first thing that comes out of Louis' mouth is, “Zayn! You unbelievable _fuckhead_!”

Niall drops his head into the crook of Zayn's neck and giggles, “You mean, Zayn, you unbelievable _fuck_.”

Zayn squeezes his eyes shut and wraps his arms around Niall's damp, trembling back. The other man is still laughing breathlessly against his skin. He's not sure how he should be feeling right now – embarrassed, guilty, ashamed? Mostly, he's just feeling flimsy and fucked out. He sort of hates Louis for interrupting his post-sex high but this _is_ his room and he's pretty sure he and Niall have effectively ruined Louis' quilt.

“You have your own room, do you not?” Louis asks furiously, not even making any pretense of shielding his eyes as he stomps into the room and flips the light switch on. 

“The bed's too high,” Zayn explains, immediately hiding his face in Niall's hair because yeah, that sounds like a pretty shitty excuse now that he's not desperately horny. 

“I don't-”

“Louis?”

They all freeze as Harry's voice pipes up from the next room over and Louis' eyes meet Zayn's immediately. Without another moment of hesitance, Louis rushes to the door and slams it closed as Zayn pushes Niall off of him and gets to his feet. Niall is still a bit wobbly and unsteady in an upright position but he makes a valiant effort to obey Zayn as he orders him to get into Louis' closet. As Niall tries to sort himself out, Zayn wipes at his bare chest hurriedly with a discarded bath towel, wincing at the state he's in.

Harry starts knocking on the door and as Louis tells him to wait for a second, Zayn grabs Niall's boxer briefs off the floor (probably not necessary but you can never be too sure) and then crams himself into the closet next to Niall, who has somehow wedged himself between Louis' two enormous suitcases on the ground. He slides the doors shut and takes a deep breath before pressing a finger to his lips and looking over at Niall, who just grins drunkenly at him.

“So you are home.” Harry sounds dangerous, like he's just barely holding himself back.

“Yeah, just got back,” Louis says, and Zayn wishes he could applaud the absolutely convincing air of cool in his voice.

“Really? I thought I heard someone in your room,” Harry says, and it's obvious that he's trying to wheedle Louis into confessing something by acting just as casual.

Zayn's stomach drops because now it hits him that, yeah, Harry _probably_ may have heard them, despite the fact that nether he nor Niall had been particularly loud. In truth, Zayn's not sure why he's even hiding in the closet – figuratively and literally – from Harry. It's not like he'll judge, and he seems to like Niall. It really wouldn't be that big of a deal. But Louis and Liam (and maybe the girls, even) already know about him and that feels like enough. Like if he tells one more person it'll just snowball until everyone knows. And okay, that shouldn't matter and it's irrational, this fear of having people find out, but Zayn just doesn't want it.

“Probably the suite next door,” Louis says nonchalantly.

“Uh-huh,” Harry says.

There's a minor scuffle and Louis lets out an offended _'hey!_. Zayn tries to stop breathing all together so he can properly hear what's happening. There are slats in the closet door, but angled downwards so all he can see are shadows and minimal light. He glances over at Niall, whose head is leaning against one of the suitcases and eyes are closed. Probably better that way, Zayn reasons as he tries to squeeze himself further into one corner. There's really nothing to hide behind in here – no clothing is hung up and aside from the suitcases Niall is hunched between, the space is empty.

“You're lying about something,” Harry says, and his voice is a lot closer than Zayn wants it to be.

A shadow passes over the closet door and he bites down on his lip. He suddenly has to piss really, really badly. This always happens. Even as a kid playing hide-and-seek he'd get so nervous and anxious that his bladder would start twisting in desperation. He glances over at Niall, whose eyes are now open and focused on Zayn. He smiles toothily, his blue eyes crinkling a bit. Zayn can't help but smile back, albeit a bit weakly because this is really not a situation he was hoping to find himself in and -

“Zayn.” 

The closet door is suddenly open and Zayn blinks up, his eyes meeting Harry's startled ones. There's a moment of silence as Harry takes in the sight before him (Zayn can only imagine what he looks like, sitting on the floor with his legs bent and pressed together so his dick isn't just out for everyone to see) and everybody else just says nothing because, well … awkward.

“What the _fuck_ is going on?” Harry shouts, spinning around to face Louis, who's hovering over by the bed looking like he may flee at any moment. 

Zayn gets to his feet and grabs the nearest piece of fabric available – a loose pillowcase – and covers his crotch up with it as he steps out of the closet. He knows he needs to start doing some damage control right now, because this is going to get out of hand fast. Harry's eyes are blazing and when he directs his glare at Zayn, they only intensify in their anger. Zayn thinks he also sees a little edge of hurt somewhere in them, too, and he knows that he has to explain himself, that he can't lie his way out of this one. 

“Harry, listen,” Zayn begins, putting a good amount of distance between him and the other man, just for safety purposes. “It's kind of a long story, but -”

“No, it's a pretty short story,” Louis interjects, clearly going back to irritated now. “I walked in on him and that blonde guy fucking on my bed and -”

“Blonde guy?” Harry interrupts, furrowing his brow. “ _Niall_? You're gay?” 

The last part is directed at Zayn, who just sighs because well, there it is. Basically everybody knows. But Harry looks less furious now and more intrigued at this sudden news so that's a good thing. Zayn sits down on the edge of the bed and even though Louis pulls a face of disgruntlement, he sits down next to him. He must've realized that yeah, a bare ass on his bed is nothing compared to the desecration it's already experienced. 

“Niall, you can come out now,” Zayn calls, ignoring the irony because … is it even ironic? Is Niall even _in_ still?

Niall comes stumbling out a few seconds later, rubbing at one eye and not even bothering to cover up. Harry looks away from him quickly, a pale pink tinting his cheeks but Louis just studies the blonde man with a sharp, scrutinizing gaze. Apparently Louis has no qualms about eyeing naked men but Zayn feels like, all things considered, Louis sort of has a right to do whatever he wants in this moment. Plus, it's not like he's eye fucking Niall. More like shooting daggers. 

Niall comes over and flops down onto the bed next to Zayn, head lolling onto the other man's shoulder. Zayn pushes the pillowcase over so that it sort of covers both of them. He should be uncomfortable about this whole situation, he thinks, but the only thing that's making his stomach all jumbled up is the fact that he feels like he owes a lot of explanations and he doesn't feel like doing that right now. He just wants to get into bed (his own) and sleep this night off. He wouldn't even be against Niall joining him, really. 

As if reading his mind, Louis says, “This can wait until the morning. Get out. All of you.”

Zayn immediately hauls Niall up to his feet, letting the pillowcase drift to the floor and directs him out the door. He doesn't want to stay in the room a second longer. But Zayn still catches the hurt in Harry's eyes, the way he looks at Louis with unvocalized pleading. He catches the way Louis turns away from Harry, giving him nothing in return but silence.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It becomes a routine, of sorts.

Niall shows up drunk on Friday or Saturday nights, they fuck (in Zayn's bed, carefully) and on weekdays, Liam passes along messages like he's a little love courier. It's an okay set-up, satisfactory in most regards, but Zayn still finds himself shutting down. Nobody really notices except Harry, but he has his own shit to deal with (namely, not breaking down every time Louis shows up in the same room) and so he just gives Zayn his space. Ed is just as cheery as ever, patting Zayn on the back every morning and saying encouraging words of wisdom as if all Zayn needs to get through the day is some overused proverb. Louis doesn't give a shit as long as nothing is happening in his bed.

Zayn doesn't want to be cynical. He hates when other people are jaded and filled to the brim with unnecessary, unearned bitterness. But every time he wakes up in the morning on the weekend and lies in bed, watching Niall put his clothes back on, all he can think is, _“Fuck this. Fuck, fuck, fuck this bullshit.”_ He has no idea where it comes from, that anger, but it does and he can't ever push it out of his mind. Something about the pale expanse of Niall's back, his narrow hips, his tousled blonde hair, and his toothy grin make Zayn feel nauseous.

Sure, Niall smiles at him as he leaves and gives him the courtesy of saying, “You're still fucking hot in the morning, how do you do it?” but nothing gets rid of that tight, sick sensation in Zayn's stomach. It actually makes it worse, he realizes. He sort of wishes Niall would just sneak out before he wakes up, leaving him alone with nobody and nothing to face in the morning. He thinks that that would be better than this.

His parents had sent him off so he could get rid of that feeling. His parents had put him on a plane with the hopes that he'd start looking at relationships normally again. 

He thinks that he might be failing them.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He goes out one Friday night with Harry and Ed to a house party. He doesn't know who owns the house, but Harry and Ed do and he's stopped feeling nervous about showing up to people's places when he doesn't know them. In the end, nobody really gives a shit. He just walks through the door behind his two roommates, head ducked and hands shoved in his pockets. 

He feels eyes following him as he weaves his way through the muggy living room, but he doesn't make eye contact with anyone. He doesn't want to see how they're looking at him. If they look closely enough, they'll see the bags under his eyes and the hickey at the base of his neck and the way his t-shirt is baggy on him. He's afraid that people will see all of that yet still want him.

“Okay, that's Brad,” Harry says, pointing out a tall guy standing in the kitchen with a red Solo cup in one hand. “He lives here. Really nice guy, you should talk to him at some point.”

Zayn smiles tightly at Harry, nods. “Yeah, absolutely.”

The glint in Harry's eyes tells Zayn that he's not buying the answer but he shrugs. “Good.”

Ed is standing next to them, bounding on his heels. “Quite the turnout tonight.”

Zayn nods again, then abruptly begins walking towards the kitchen. He has an entire bottle of whisky in his backpack and he needs some space to get it out. If he's going to stand around in a house full of people he doesn't know, he needs to be drunk. He hasn't been properly drunk in what feels like a long, long time. 

On the kitchen counter, he unzips his bag and pulls the heavy bottle out, his heart quickening at the sight of the amber liquid lapping the sides of the glass bottle. He needs it in his system, right now. He needs it poisoning his blood. It's a weird feeling because he has never been the type to drink to get drunk. He's always been a social drinker, nursing beers or taking shots in group solidarity. Rarely does he feel like this, desperate to drown himself in alcohol until he blacks out.

“So you're Harry and Ed's roommate.”

Zayn turns and finds himself looking up at Brad, who's smiling down at him with sincere friendliness. He's what Zayn expects is the typical “All-American boy”. Broad shoulders, teeth perfected in his teens, dark brown hair that is not too long and not too short, well-dressed yet casual. Not overtly threatening yet still domineering in his confidence. There's a mole under one of his eyes and for some reason Zayn's eyes are drawn to it. 

“That's me,” he says, taking Brad's large hand and shaking it. 

“They keep talking about you like you're fucking famous,” Brad says with a good-natured laugh. “I'm glad to finally meet you.” 

They slide into a conversation that Zayn finds easier to maintain the more whisky he gets into his system. At some point, one of Brad's roommates – a pretty blonde girl with a tongue piercing – shoves a shot of tequila in Zayn's hand. By then, he's downed a good amount of alcohol and he feels warm and giddy, his head spinning and afloat. He wants to feel like this forever. 

Brad is also quite drunk, smiling impossibly wide and laughing. If he wasn't straight (which Zayn knows he is, seeing as one of the first things he'd found out about Brad was that he had a girlfriend back home in Las Vegas), Zayn would be more than happy to fuck him right now while the party is still in full swing. But he's not into guys and that's okay, too. Zayn hadn't planned on this night being one of those I'm-going-to-fuck-whatever-this-is-out-of-my-system sort of occasions. 

An hour goes by and Zayn is sitting on the couch between Brad's blonde roommate and her friend when his phone vibrates in his pocket. Clumsily, he fishes it out and slides it open. He squints at the text, but can't seem to quite take in whatever it's saying. Half of his bottle is already empty and someone (he thinks it might've been Ed) has already confiscated the bottle from him. 

The roommate yanks the phone out of his hand, scans it quickly.

“Louis says: 'where the fuck are you? Is Harry with you?' He must be _wasted_ though because his spelling is awful.”

Zayn sighs and runs a hand through his hair, already destroyed by the dampness and the body heat surrounding him. He glances up and sees Harry in the corner by the stereo talking to Brad, leant in close as they try to hear each other over the sound of some busy, frantic dubstep number. He keeps watching as Brad closes the gap completely and turns his head to press a kiss against the corner of Harry's mouth, keeps staring as Harry moves so that their lips firmly lock. 

“Fuck, he's going to hate himself in the morning,” the roommate says beside Zayn, her voice fondly frustrated. “This always happens.”

“Always?” Zayn slurs, twisting to look at the girl. 

“Yeah,” she says, knocking her shoulder against his. “Brad gets drunk, kisses a guy, wakes up in the morning and Skype's his girlfriend for hours so he feels less guilty.”

This is why relationships make Zayn angry. Because no matter what, every single one is messed up in some way. There is a kink that can't be smoothed out, a tear that can never be patched up. People say that no relationship is worth having if it doesn't have an imperfection to characterize it but Zayn wonders if it's even worth it in the long run, if all the metaphorical bruises and wounds built up after time are even worth it. 

And if they aren't, then what the fuck is he going to do? Never have a relationship?

“I'm taking Harry home,” Zayn says with alcohol-fueled conviction, getting to his feet with the help of the roommate, who gives him a firm push upwards. He doesn't even know her name.

He makes his way over to Harry and Brad, who are making out messily against the stereo. People are glancing at them with mixed reactions; some people are giggling and giving them words of encouragements, others who are less drunk are looking at them with anxious expressions, knowing quite well that they'll regret it.

“Let's go,” Zayn says, more forceful than he'd ever be sober, as he grabs onto Harry's shoulder. 

Harry pulls away from Brad and blinks down at Zayn, eyes wide. “What?”

“We're going home.” 

Harry nods, glances at Brad, who's looking between Zayn and Harry, before pulling out of Zayn's grasp and stumbling towards the door. Zayn sighs and gives Brad a small smile before turning to follow Harry. It'd been easier than he expected, tearing the two apart, and he's thankful for that.

Before he can get away completely, a hand lands on his shoulder and Zayn turns his head, meeting Brad's big blue eyes.

“I would've, you know … ” Brad shakes his head as if confused by his own words, “If I'd known you were into guys. Before.”

His words hit Zayn right in the stomach. He practically flees the house, not looking back at Brad as he yanks the front door open and staggers out onto the front porch. He wants to be in his bed, curled around a pillow, anything that isn't breathing and lusting after him and staring at him with wide eyes like he's a collectible in a glass case. 

Harry is standing on the front lawn with his arms wrapped around himself, looking out at the street and the cars rumbling by. Zayn takes a few faltering steps down the stairs and then grabs onto Harry's elbow before tugging the other man down the stairs and out onto the sidewalk. They're both trembling, but it's probably because of the chill. Probably.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Back at the suite, Zayn opens the door and leads Harry in with an arm around the other's waist. He's sobering up impressively fast, a combination of the cool air and reality. Harry is still drunk but quiet, head bowed and curls dipping into his eyes. He seems almost catatonic and Zayn would be worried, if Harry hadn't reached up several times throughout the walk to brush his fingertips against his own lips.

“Drunk?” 

Zayn glances up at that one word and then comes to a stop, pulling Harry backwards a bit. Louis is sitting on the couch with his phone gripped in one hand, blue eyes narrowed. But he isn't the person who Zayn is shocked by. Instead, his eyes are glued to Niall, who is stretched out in a beanbag (Zayn's beanbag) and is looking over at the two newcomers with a sloppy grin. Zayn wants to simultaneously punch him in the face and maul him with his lips.

“Yeah,” Zayn says with a shrug and begins to walk again.

Harry says nothing, just peeks at Louis through his eyelashes as Zayn marches him past and into his room. He rolls Harry onto his bed and pulls off his shoes, grateful that the room is dark and he doesn't have to see whatever expression Harry has on his face. He decides against taking Harry's jeans off for him and instead just throws a blanket over him before stepping out of the room and shutting the door. He thinks that maybe someone should watch Harry, make sure he doesn't start puking, but there is something so still and subdued about the curly-haired man that Zayn think it's safe.

Louis and Niall haven't budged. Niall is tapping away at his phone, snapback cocked at an odd angle and Louis is hunched over slightly, picking at his cuticles. Zayn stops in front of him at a good distance away, swaying slightly. The whisky is more of a presence in his bloodstream than he'd like to think. He stares at the top of Louis' honey-hued head for a few moments before finally making eye contact. Louis' eyes are unreadable, vacant. 

“Is he getting over me?” Louis asks. “Or is he still moping around?”

Zayn feels a surge of rage flare up in his gut but he ignores it. He's not sure how long he can keep doing that. 

“Yeah, he's doing quite well at it,” Zayn replies, snarky and intending to wound. He thinks of Brad and Harry, snogging. "At getting over you."

Louis' eyes harden, it isn't difficult to miss. Beside him on the floor, Niall stops texting and directs his gaze over to Zayn, sensing a change in atmosphere. 

“Oh, really?” Louis asks, cocking an eyebrow. “Are you helping him out? Wouldn't be surprised.”

“What?” Zayn asks, genuinely bewildered. “What the bloody hell are you talking about?”

“It's pretty obvious that Harry is dying to suck your dick,” Louis says, his voice eerily devoid of anger or hurt or nastiness. “Maybe you're giving it to him, trying to help his broken heart?”

Zayn has never met anyone so infuriating, so fucking mind-boggling. He has some problems of his own, but Louis Tomlinson is really, really screwed up.

“Hey now,” Niall says, speaking up for the first time.

Louis glances down at him over his shoulder, and a smirk appears on his face. Zayn feels his blood run cold and he has to reach out to the wall to steady himself. It's like the whisky has turned into ice cold water, sending shivers down his spine. He doesn't like the way Louis is looking at Niall like he's found his next victim, his new target.

“You like Zayn, don't you?” Louis asks, innocently enough.

Niall blinks, then nods. “Well, yeah.”

“You know why he's here? In America?” Louis asks, and Zayn feels an electric bolt shoot through him.

“Shut up, Louis,” he says, voice low. “Shut the fuck up.”

“How do you feel about cheaters?” 

“Cheaters?” Niall asks, tilting his head. “What kind of cheater are we talking about?”

“People who lie and break the rules to get what they want, what they don't deserve,” Louis replies, voice velvety smooth. 

Breathing has suddenly become difficult for Zayn and he turns so that he can brace both palms against the wall and lean his forehead against it. He doesn't want to see the emotions play out across Niall's face, hopes to God that he's drunk too so that maybe what Louis says next won't affect him the way it would if he were sober. 

“Depends,” Niall replies, uncertain. “But usually that's pretty fucked up, I guess.”

“Isn't it?” Louis asks, and Zayn can feel those blue eyes on his back. “Our Zayn here is a skilled cheater. One of the best.”

Niall says nothing and that bad feeling gets worse. 

Louis continues. “His parents sent him here after they found out how their son was cheating the system, lying and breaking the rules.” 

Zayn murmurs, “Don't,” but at the same time, he wants to hear those words come out of Louis' mouth, wants to hear how badly he fucked up coming from another person's mouth. Because even though his parents and his sisters and most of the faculty at his old college know, he has yet to hear one person say that he'd screwed up, that he'd intentionally done something really, really idiotic. 

To everyone else, he's been the victim. Poor Zayn, taken advantage of and used and just too young to know better. 

Louis chuckles and Zayn knows that in this version of the story, he is the bad guy, he's the villain.

“Zayn fucked a professor for good grades back at his old school. Didn't have to do homework, did you, Zayn? Could've turned in a blank test and it wouldn't have mattered, as long as you let your fifty-something-year-old, married professor put his dick in you. And you didn't do it just once, did you? You kept doing it even when you weren't being given a grade for it.”

So Louis hammers the final nail into the coffin, puts into words the weight that Zayn has been carrying. 

When Zayn finally turns around, he finds three pairs of eyes on him. Louis is looking at him blankly, no more malice on his face. Niall is wide-eyed with lips parted. Harry is standing in the door of his bedroom, arms wrapped around himself again and head shaking from side to side. 

“Yeah,” Zayn croaks, smiling weakly. “Take it up the ass and you pass.”


	9. Drive Ourselves Insane

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know what this is. Super short, super shitty but hopefully it doesn't seem like tooooo much of a filler chapter. Enjoy, and prior disclaimer applies, of course.

  
_"But those are the days that bind us together, forever_  
 _And those little things define us forever, forever_  
 _All this bad blood here, won’t you let it dry?_  
 _It’s been cold for years, won't you let it lie?_  
 _I don’t wanna hear about the bad blood anymore."_  
Bad Blood - Bastille

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He goes straight to bed, doesn't even wait around for a response.

He locks the door behind him and crawls up the ladder to his lofted bed, not bothering to shuck off his clothing until he's lying on his mattress. He shimmies out of his jeans and shirt and throws them off the edge, lying still so he can hear the soft thud of his clothing landing on the floor. 

His mind is wiped blank and he's numb. He literally feels nothing. Not angry, humiliated, mortified, sad.

Out in the common area, he can hear soft voices talk for a few minutes, and then a door slam shut. He closes his eyes and stretches out until he's spreadeagled, four limbs pointing to the corners of his mattress. He wants to fall asleep or fall unconscious or … anything that will keep the deluge of thoughts from coming. Because he knows that they're on the peripheries, waiting for the perfect moment to come flooding in, drowning him in self-pity and guilt and disgust.

A knock on his door startles him and he sits up quickly, slamming his forehead against the ceiling. Groaning, he falls back onto the bed and massages the sore skin. Another knock comes but he just lies there, eyes squeezed shut and hand over his face. He doesn't know who it might be and doesn't really care. He's been called out enough for one night. He doesn't want to face another person.

“Zayn?” Niall's voice is soft, softer than Zayn has ever heard it. He sounds almost meek.

Breath stuck in his throat, Zayn scurries down the ladder but stops at the door, hand hovering over the doorknob. He thinks for a second, flips through all of the possible consequences, and then steps away and lets his hand drop to his side.

“Go home,” he says, loud enough that he knows his voice will carry.

The doorknob jiggles as Niall tries to get in. 

“Zayn, please.” Niall's voice is muffled but closer, as if he has his mouth pressed up against the door. “You need to talk about this.”

Zayn bristles at this, shakes his head. “No, I don't.”

“Yeah, you do.” Niall's voice is stronger now, steadier with determination.

Zayn realizes that Niall is actually sober tonight. It disturbs in a deep, instinctual way. It seems like a step too far forward, Niall coming to see him without alcohol blitzing through his system.

“ _Go home_.”

“No.”

“Please.” 

That one word seems to do the trick. No answer comes and Zayn hears Niall's voice further away, somewhere in the common area, as he says, “You're a fucking prickhead”, presumably to Louis. 

As soon as he hears the front door shut, Zayn climbs back up into bed and lies there for hours as he fights with his mind, up until the sky begins to lighten into a dreary gray.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Professor Morgan had that suave attractiveness earned only by age and experience.

Not that Zayn had immediately wanted to shag him at first sight or anything. Professor Morgan had taught one of his English modules, a class that he didn't want to take but had to. He wasn't _bad_ at English, but didn't have the drive for it, couldn't care less if his essay had a proper thesis statement and conclusion. So he'd walked into Professor Morgan's class with a fatalistic outlook, certain that he'd do terribly on every assignment and become the kid the professor complained about to all of his faculty friends.

He'd been right in some respects.

The first essay he failed. Miserably. To be fair, he'd written it at one o'clock the previous morning, groggy and desperate to just get it done. He'd been expecting the blocks of red writing, mercilessly critiquing his paper, calling it sloppy and a clear indication of how little effort he'd put into it. What he _hadn't_ been expecting was the scribbled note at the very end of the paper, asking Zayn to come see him personally. Zayn had hoped that his chastisement would be left at some harsh but deserved comments. An office visit?

But he'd gone, of course, because Zayn was not totally lacking in manners or obedience. To the contrary, he very rarely strayed from the straight and narrow. Sure, maybe a bit lazy and quietly headstrong, but never a troublemaker. That had never been his scene.

When he'd entered the office, Zayn had immediately picked up on Professor Morgan's standing within the school. His office was bigger than the others he'd been in, and exponentially nicer. All leather furniture, deep wood accents, gold framed certificates and antique décor. The man sitting behind the desk, reading glasses perched on a regal nose, had fit in too well. He'd given Zayn a smile but during that meeting, there wasn't one sign that he was interested in Zayn as anything but a student.

He'd said to Zayn, “I'm concerned about your path of progress if you didn't even try on your first assignment. That's why I'm asking that you come in once a week so I can help you with building your writing skills. Maybe you can even help me organize my bookshelf for some extra credit.”

Zayn had agreed because why wouldn't he?

Nothing happened for weeks. He'd go into Professor Morgan's office, show him how he was doing on his next paper, then putter around, doing some odds and ends. He'd missed the gazes his professor leveled at him when he was lost in a task, bottom lip tucked between teeth and thick, dark lashes fanning his cheeks. He didn't feel the crackling sexual tension until one evening when he was kneeling between Professor Morgan's legs, eyes cast upward and locked with the older man's, a niggling thought at the back of his mind, _how had it come to this?_

If anyone were to ask, Zayn would quickly say that it was consensual. Because it was. But no one asked, not until the secret came out.

He'd wanted to have sex with Professor Morgan. It was easy to ignore in the hour they had together that Professor Morgan was his superior, that there was a drastic imbalance of power, that they were fucking over the system, and that there was a wedding ring that would sometimes press into Zayn's skin. He found himself lost in the pleasure of it, the way Professor Morgan knew how to fuck him just right, with the knowledge and experience of an older man. It was easy to ignore how his papers came back with a couple of half-assed, heartless comments along with a nearly perfect score. It was just easy.

He hadn't predicted his sister finding out. He hadn't predicted the disappointed, worried looks on his parents' face. And he surely hadn't predicted being sent away to another country to “heal”.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next morning, Zayn stumbles out of his bedroom with just a pair of joggers on, hair a horrific mess and eyes crusted with sleep. 

It's seven o'clock in the morning and he thinks that no one's awake that early on a weekend, but he sees that he's wrong when his eyes are drawn to the figure curled up on the couch. He keeps walking towards the bathroom, hoping they can both go on like neither of them had noticed the other, but the reedy, pained voice shatters that illusion.

“I'm so fucking sorry.”

Zayn sighs and stops, because as badly as he wishes he had a backbone, he really doesn't. He never has. It's a bit ironic, really, that he never seems to connect with anyone on a deeper level than just a sad, shallow excuse of a friendship, but he still bends to people's wills like he owes them something. He laughs internally at the thought that sometimes he _literally_ bends over for people, offering them whatever they want from him. People look at him and think that he's more apt to punch a person out than acquiesce to their every demand, but they've got it all wrong. 

“Yeah?” he murmurs, glancing over at Louis, who is sitting up and staring back at him with wide eyes. “Then why'd you pull that last night?”

“Because I was drunk and angry and – and -” Louis stammers, shaking his head. He looks terrified, and that lets Zayn know he's being sincere. He has come to understand that Louis hates showing fear. He _fears_ fear. “I had no right.”

“No, you didn't,” Zayn replies, no real malice in his voice. “I understand that sometimes we say things we don't mean. Sometimes we're angry and hurt. But you bring all that shit on to yourself, Louis. You could be happy if you just let yourself.”

Louis seems to shrink further into the blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He must've slept on the couch all night. If he slept at all, which is doubtful, seeing the purple bags under his eyes. He casts his eyes downward and sighs, deflating even more. Zayn does and does not want to comfort him. He doesn't like seeing other people suffer, especially if it's preventable, but he feels like Louis doesn't deserve his support, not yet at least.

“I wish it were that easy,” Louis mumbles, chuckling weakly.

Zayn shrugs, unable to keep a sardonic smile from creasing his lips. “Yeah, I guess you're right.”

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Liam knows about what happened, that much is obvious.

He's awkwardly quiet during the first half of Sociology class, so Zayn just listens in on Cher and Perrie's conversation about a sorority fundraiser their house is throwing that inexplicably involves a see-saw. He's half-asleep, half-intrigued when Liam elbows him gently. Their eyes meet and Liam gestures at the door with a quick jerk of his head, making it clear that he wants them to make a discreet exit from the room. 

Liam goes first, jogging down the stairs and out the door with little fanfare. The professor doesn't even look his way. Zayn waits about a minute before he follows the same path out, this time capturing a few people's attention. He imagines the scenarios people are making up in their heads, like _“yep, those two are about to suck each other's cocks in the bathroom.”_

A little ways down the hall, Liam is leant up against the wall, scuffing his shoe against the floor. He looks up when Zayn approaches and smiles warmly, a genuinely kind expression that has Zayn's muscles loosening a bit. He likes how he can read Liam easily. He likes how he's not a mystery. 

“Niall told me,” Liam begins. “That was shitty of Louis.”

Zayn feels a sudden urge to defend Louis but stops himself. “Yeah, a bit.”

“Listen.” Liam sighs and runs a hand over his hair, buzzed short since the last Zayn saw him. “That happens a lot, okay? Students sleeping with teachers. It's not like … like you did something really, really awful. Yeah, maybe not the most admirable thing ever, but it happens.”

It's unspoken, but Zayn knows that Liam is subtly blaming the professor. Again, that frustration at being considered the victim rises up in him but he tamps that down, too, because he can also see that Liam means well. And oddly enough, Zayn sort of feels better. Sure, he's always known that the whole teacher/student thing isn't exactly uncommon, but to hear Liam – mostly straight-laced frat president – shrug off his dirty secret is a bit liberating. 

“So you don't think I'm a dishonest, manipulative little twat?” Zayn asks, smiling despite the fact that he'd heard a peer back home describe him with those exact words. 

“Wouldn't call you a _twat_ , that seems a bit extreme,” Liam says with a chuckle, knocking his shoulder against Zayn's. 

After a pause, Zayn asks, “Is Niall angry at me?”

“No, not angry,” Liam says. “Just disappointed that you wouldn't talk about it. But like I told him, you need time. You can't just be expected to start talking about something like that after someone basically spills it without your consent, you know?” 

Zayn nods, lets his head fall back against the wall. He's glad he has Liam. He seems to be one of the only people in his life at the moment who thinks rationally. 

“Come by tonight,” Liam suggests, voice hopeful. “Come by and talk to Niall. Just … hang out with him when you're both sober, okay? He's a great guy.” 

Zayn heaves an enormous sigh but looks at Liam and nods in agreement. They both smile. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Niall answers the door that night at AKL, blue eyes brighter than Zayn remembers them (which sounds dumb, even to himself).

“Hi,” Niall says, sounding breathless. “Liam said he invited you but I didn't think you'd actually show up.”

Zayn shrugs and bites down on his lip, uncertain. “Here I am.”

Niall grins as if Zayn has said the friendliest thing ever and reaches out to grab his hand. Zayn's not expecting the sudden physical contact but allows himself to be pulled into the house (because he is compliant, so compliant when it comes down to it). They go up the stairs two at a time, Zayn stumbling to keep up. A few of Niall's frat brothers pass them as they head downstairs but nobody mentions the fact that Niall is practically dragging another guy up the stairs. A couple of them give Niall a quick greeting or a high five that implies nothing, but there's no suspicious stares or raised eyebrows. Zayn can't wrap his mind around this world of masculinity and brotherhood quite yet.

Niall shares a room with one other guy who, by the looks of his half of the space, really likes expensive computers and video game systems. The room is surprisingly neat, and without even being asked, Niall explains that Liam has mandatory weekly room cleanings that are inspected by Liam himself. Niall's twin bed is adorned with a green comforter (“In honor of my Irish roots”) and is piled high with pillows. 

Zayn takes a hesitant seat on the edge of the bed and looks up at Niall, who has come to stand in front of him. There's a tense moment as they just lock eyes, saying nothing. 

Niall speaks first. “I don't like … think differently of you because you fucked your professor. I'm not judging.”

Zayn blinks and looks down at his hands.

“I've done some shitty stuff in my life.” Niall laughs softly. “We all have.”

“What have you done, then?” Zayn asks, a slight edge of challenge in his hushed voice. 

Niall shrugs. “I've done drugs. I've had unsafe sex with guys and girls. I've looked off the person next to me during tests.”

“Everyone's done that,” Zayn mumbles. He instantly hates himself because he hadn't come here to participate in the Fuck Up Olympics. 

There's a pause, then Niall exhales loudly out of his nose. “I've driven drunk before. Multiple times. But then I crashed into a telephone pole one night my senior year of high school. My friend, who was in the passenger seat, got a pretty bad concussion. But we were both lucky we survived.”

Zayn glances up to see that Niall is still looking at him, eyes focused intently on Zayn. There is no meek shame in those eyes, no plea for forgiveness from a person who has no place withholding such a thing. And Zayn realizes in that split second that Niall is the type of person who faces his mistakes, corrects them, then refuses to spend the rest of his life dwelling over them and remaining prisoner to his past. Zayn envies him. Envies him so much it tears him up inside.

“I get your point,” Zayn says, nodding once.

Niall beams and then bends now so their faces are at the same level. He pushes forward and their lips collide.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Later that night, Zayn wakes up to the sound of his phone buzzing incessantly somewhere near his head. Even half-asleep he knows that he's in Niall's bed because there are a pair of strong arms wrapped tightly around his middle and he's completely naked (he usually never sleeps totally nude, finds it almost too freeing). He gropes around blindly for his phone until he finds it under a pillow and blinks against the bright light as he opens the text message. 

**From: Louis Tomlinson**  
i'm going to tell harry about spain. tomorrow.


	10. How It Was

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To all of you have commented - I love you all and thank you so much! I have read some absolutely fantastic/hilarious/sweet comments so far. I wish I had the time to answer individually but alas. :( So this will be the last chapter for a week or so, my spring break starts today! Hopefully it isn't too boring and sets up some future drama/plots. 
> 
> Disclaimer still applies!

  
_"I was wishing we could go back to how it was_  
 _how it was before age impaired our reach._  
 _I was wishing we could go back to the_  
 _house our hands stretched on the opened trees."_  
Pioneers - The Lighthouse and the Whaler

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next morning, Niall's roommate takes it upon himself to act as their personal alarm clock.

Zayn nearly starts sobbing as he's rudely torn away from sleep by said roommate, Tony, who's crooning a song that Zayn doesn't recognize at the top of his lungs. He rolls onto his stomach and glances at Niall, who's propped up on one elbow and looking at Tony with a bright, cheery facial expression that stirs a dangerous feeling in Zayn's gut, a combination of irritation and lust. 

He'd spent half the night texting Louis and supporting him through his impending Harry crisis but Niall had slept soundly, snoring in Zayn's ear the entire night. Zayn himself had finally drifted off to sleep around three, not used to the random sounds that came with living in a frat house. For instance, at the arse crack of dawn, he'd heard one of Niall's neighbors yell, _“Bro, have you seen Jason's Harlem Shake video yet? Fucking hilarious. I think Curtis' junk fell out halfway through!”_

“He's singing Demi,” Niall says in a whisper, dipping his head so his lips are up against Zayn's ear. “She's my favorite.”

Zayn grimaces and falls back down onto the pillow, burying his face in it so he doesn't have to watch as Tony does a fairly impressive back bend and mimics singing into an invisible microphone. 

“ _But you make me wanna act like a girl. Paint my nails and wear high heeeeeeeeels -_ ”

The door flies open without warning, revealing an impeccably dressed Eleanor, followed by an eccentrically dressed Rita. The brunette has an even less enthusiastic expression on her face than Zayn, and shoots Tony a dirty glare that does nothing to stop him. Rita giggles and jumps onto Tony's bed, legs swaddled in fuchsia leggings spread wide as she joins Tony for the chorus. 

Eleanor rolls her eyes, but there's a fond smile quirking up her lips. “Impossible, those two.”

“This is such a great way to start the morning,” Niall says with a glowing sincerity.

Zayn cranes his neck up to look at him, face twisting into confusion as he sees that Niall is chowing down on a protein bar. Did he stockpile food under his pillow or something?

Niall notices Zayn's stare and winks. “Here, I've got another one for you. No need to steal mine or anything.” 

Zayn takes the bar offered to him and quickly reads the label - Peanut Butter Caramel Crunch. He almost balks at the calorie count lurking in that foil casing.

“So, this is new,” Eleanor says as she takes a seat on Niall's bed, right next to Zayn's knees. “I've yet to see a guy in Niall's bed when it's still light outside.”

Niall laughs like she hasn't just essentially insulted him. “True that.”

Eleanor sighs loudly, flips a glossy tendril over her shoulder. She's in a navy blue dress with a white Peter Pan collar, complete with a pair of black patterned tights and nude Oxford pumps. She looks absolutely _posh_. Looking at Rita with her wild, dyed locks, her neon leggings and equally bright floral leather jacket and high top Nike's, Zayn doesn't quite understand how they had ever gotten together. 

“I have class in half an hour,” Zayn announces. 

Eleanor looks at him, looks away and then addresses Niall with her next question. “Are you keeping him, then? He's cute. Totally not your usual type, though.”

“What?” Niall scoffs. “I've totally had the bad boy type before. I don't have a _type_ anyway. Plus, look who's talking. You were totally banging Kallie Anderson, Tri Delt queen, Californian beauty queen and secret lesbian for like … four months.”

Niall innocently ignores the glare Rita shoots their way. 

“We're not talking about me,” Eleanor says, voice sugary sweet yet venomous all at once. “We're talking about the boy in your bed right at this moment.”

Zayn thinks he should be insulted by the way he's being ignored and talked about, but then Niall runs a hand through his already mussed hair and he melts a little bit. 

“Yeah, well, Zayn's special, isn't he?” Niall quips easily, and Zayn can sense his smile without even looking at him.

It sort of floors him, how effortlessly Niall could admit such a thing. He's found his new mystery – Niall Horan. Who knew that the too-blonde boy with a disgusting love of mediocre beer and affinity for man tanks could be so complex yet so simple? He wants to be freaked out, wants to feel repelled by it, but Zayn feels something loosen in his heart. He bites down on his lip, trying to fight a smile off his face but Eleanor sees the way his mouth twists and she breaks into a sparkling smile.

“Yeah, looks like the feeling's mutual.” She gets to her feet and reaches up to grab Rita's hand and help her off Tony's bed. “Let's go, babe. We have Interior Design in ten minutes.”

As soon as the girls are gone, Zayn rolls out of bed and grabs his briefs, tugging them on hurriedly. Niall groans but mirrors his actions, pulling out a new pair of briefs from his drawer, completely shameless with his ass out for any wandering eye to see. Zayn flushes slightly but not even Tony seems at all fazed by his roommate's nudity so he tells himself to keep it together. 

“Might as well just skip your first class,” Niall says, tossing Zayn a ball of fabric before turning back around to his tiny closet. “We're not leaving this house until we eat breakfast. Eddie - he's our cook – is stoned like 24/7 but he makes a mean Eggs Benedict.”

Zayn doesn't reply, just shrugs into the shirt Niall's given him to wear. It's thin and white with some brand name splashed across the front in huge, blocky red letters and, of course, it's a tank top, but he just throws his leather jacket on over it, covering up his arms. 

He feels like something has changed, like he and Niall have steered onto a new, unexplored path.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Zayn gets back to his own dorm around four that afternoon, already prepared for whatever civil war might be taking place. 

But the entire suite is silent. There's no screaming, no throwing of objects, no dramatic declarations of guilt or disappointment being yelled. All the bedroom doors are closed except his, signaling the presence of all of his roommates. It's an eerie, unsettled quiet that hints at discontent and agitation – Zayn assumes that Louis' already told Harry. 

“Louis?” Zayn knocks on the other man's door, softly calls his name.

He hears a shuffling of covers, then the lock clicks and the door creaks open. 

Louis looks wrecked, absolutely torn apart. Zayn freezes, taking in the sight. Louis' eyes are swollen and red, his cheeks are ruddy and his fringe is stuck to his forehead with dampness. Zayn has never considered Louis ugly or even remotely unattractive, but right now, he's downright ghastly looking. This is the person who humiliated him, the person who aired out his dirty laundry like it was his own, yet Zayn can't help but feel upset for him.

“Fuck,” Louis mutters, covering his face with his hands. “I … _fuck_.”

Zayn closes the gap between them and wraps his arms around the smaller man before he can think it through and stop himself. “You told him, then?”

Against his shoulder, Louis nods. 

They stand there for a couple of minutes in silence as Louis exhales hot, wet breath against Zayn's neck and Zayn just stares off at nothing, the wheels in his head turning. 

“You know what he said to me?” Louis murmurs. His voice cracks at the end. “He said that he was glad I confessed because he … he, uh … he cheated on me, too.”

Zayn's face twists into a shocked expression that might've been comical to an onlooker, but there's nothing funny about the surprise and disbelief coursing through him. 

“With that Brad guy, at the beginning of the year,” Louis continues. “We weren't getting along that great but we were still together, you know? Isn't that worse than what I did or am I just trying to make him the bad guy? I don't know if I should feel better about the fact that we both fucked up or just be really, really hurt that he slept with somebody else.”

It's the most honest Louis has ever been around Zayn, and it might be one of the most heartbreaking parts about this whole thing. Zayn hugs him tighter, sighs. 

“He just told you, then? Just like that?”

“Yeah,” Louis murmurs. “He didn't cry or get angry or … anything. He just hugged me and smiled at me a little - _smiled_ \- and said that it was okay, that he'd done the same thing, and that it was probably for the best if we just made our break-up official.”

Zayn's heart actually sort of breaks for Louis. He hadn't seen them together and happy at the same time for very long, but in the times that he had, he'd seen their love. It'd nearly been suffocating, making him and Ed roll their eyes and make gagging motions. He tries to imagine how Louis must be feeling. He wonders if Louis would've rather had some explosive fight instead of the sad fading out that had actually occurred. It's mostly Louis' fault that that had happened, Zayn would agree, but the way Louis feels insubstantial in his arms makes him think that he'd also gotten the brunt of the punishment. 

“It'll be okay,” Zayn murmurs, squeezing Louis tighter. “Things will work out.”

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He gets a call from his mother a couple of days later. It's a bit unexpected, since they'd agreed to keep in touch through email and Skype. He stares at his phone for a few seconds, letting it ring several times before he answers. 

“Mum?”

“Zayn, love.” She sounds relieved, like she'd half-expected him to not pick up at all.

“Is everything okay?” Zayn asks, brow furrowed. 

“Yes, of course!” She answers too quickly, overcompensating with forced enthusiasm. 

Zayn sighs and takes a seat in his desk chair. “Mum.”

“Professor Morgan … he got fired.”

Zayn doesn't say anything for a while, concentrating on the slow, even breathing on the other end. He envisions the man in his head, the intelligent eyes and the clever smirk and … he feels a crushing weight that's a mixture of repulsion and want. He hasn't seen the man in months but he's still in his head, taunting him. 

“Why?” Zayn murmurs. 

“...he got caught again. But this time the administration found out about it. He couldn't keep it quiet this time.” And she sounds so, so sorry, like she was at fault for something.

Zayn knows why she feels guilty. She thinks she should've protected him, somehow. She thinks that she should've told someone about Professor Morgan's penchant for sleeping with students so he could be properly fired and punished. But Zayn had begged her not to, too many people knew already, and he didn't want more people knowing. His family knew, some of his peers knew, members of Professor Morgan's department knew. Too many people, but all who were willing to keep their mouths shut when it mattered.

But the truth was, Zayn had been at the point where it didn't matter if people gave him judging looks and spoke about him behind his back. He just didn't want Professor Morgan – brilliant, charismatic, dazzling Professor Morgan – to lose his job, his livelihood. 

“Oh,” Zayn says. 

So that's that.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He goes out to dinner with Niall that weekend. 

But it's not a date. There are ten of them, all crammed into a booth at the only good Italian restaurant in town. 

He's squeezed in between Niall and Louis, who Liam had insisted come along with them. Surprisingly enough, he's been quite chipper and social, chatting amiably with Cher and Perrie, who coo over his fashion sense and give him much welcomed attention. Liam and Danielle are on Niall's left, with Eleanor and Rita at the very end. Tony, Niall's roommate, is jammed at the opposite end beside Perrie, making comments here and there in his strange, offhand way. It's one of those booths where the bench seat is curved in a horseshoe formation, making it nearly impossible for those in the middle (in this case, Zayn and Niall) to get out unless they want to force at least four people out of the way first. 

“Can I just say that this is lovely?” Eleanor announces as the waiter sets their meals in front of them. “It's been too long.”

Everyone murmurs in agreement except for Zayn and Louis, who just exchange small smiles. Under the table, Niall places his palm flat against Zayn's thigh and leaves it there. He doesn't squeeze or massage or move it any higher, which Zayn is thankful for. The last thing he needs is a raging boner while trying to eat his chicken cacciatore in the company of nine other people. He can already see how that would go. Endless teasing and humiliation, basically. 

Eleanor continues, raising an eyebrow. “Would've been nice if Niall had chosen to wear something a bit more appropriate for a dinner out, but...”

Niall pouts and looks down at his t-shirt, a startling red number that hangs too large on his lean frame. It has another huge, flashy logo on it but Zayn has come to the conclusion that Niall only wears variations of the same shirt. At least he'd had the respect to take his snapback off. 

“Not everyone can look as good as you all the time, El,” Perrie says with a smile, draining her Pepsi and setting the cup down with an accomplished clatter.

Rita twirls her fork in the air and says, “Hear, hear.”

“So, what's your story?” Tony pipes up midway through their meal, question directed at Louis.

It's an open-ended query that Zayn would find difficult to answer, but Louis has no problem fielding questions about himself. He tells Tony about what he's studying, where he's from, and what he wants to do after college, leaving out his family life. Most people know about Louis anyway, and how his dad practically finances half of the school.

“Are you dating anyone?” Eleanor asks Louis, her voice light and nonchalant but with an undertone of purpose.

Zayn shoots a less than inconspicuous look of exasperation at Niall, who just avoids eye contact and resumes shoveling a forkful of pasta into his mouth. Zayn thens look over at Liam, who catches sight of his stony gaze and immediately finds a gripping interest in the salt shaker. 

Louis is already answering Eleanor's question by the time Zayn refocuses his attention back to the conversation.

“Well, I just went through a break-up actually,” Louis says, smiling as if he's delivering more pleasant news. “But it's been okay.”

Everyone makes sympathetic noises except for Eleanor, who has an unsettling glint in her eye.

“Was it a mutual break-up?” She asks, far too pointedly for the topic. Rita reaches out and squeezes her elbow but Eleanor ignores her.

“Um...” Louis looks taken aback. “Yes?”

“Nope. You have the look of someone who is not at all happy about it.” Eleanor smirks. “So are you going to try and win him back, then?”

“Win him back?” Louis laughs incredulously. “How'd you even know it's a 'he'?”

“Oh, please, don't insult me, I have eyes,” Eleanor says. “And also, Niall might've mentioned something.”

Zayn kicks Niall under the table as lightly as he can while still relaying his discontent. The blonde man gives him a sheepish little smile. 

“Okay, well, thank you, Niall,” Louis says, rolling his eyes. “And no, I am not planning on winning him back.”

“But if you could get him back, would you?”

This conversation, in Zayn's opinion, is getting a bit out of hand. Neither Eleanor nor Louis look sufficiently flustered or insulted by what's being discussed, which is the most worrisome part. They're both focused on each other with unwavering eye contact but are also maintaining admirable cool.

“Not sure why any of this is your business,” Louis retorts.

“Listen, I'm fucking _brilliant_ with stuff like this,” Eleanor says, a smug smile on her face. “If you want this kid back, then come to me with your inflated pride tucked between your legs and we'll talk.” 

The conversation is finished after that.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Sorry about Eleanor,” Niall apologizes that night as he crawls up the ladder to Zayn's bed. “She can kind of be a … you know.”

He raises his eyebrows, trying to convey his meaning. As he'd told Zayn before, he'd stopped uttering the b-word after a member of one of the campuses' feminism groups had explained to him why it was insulting. Apparently, he'd yet to find a word that wasn't sexist but still accurately described an intimidating, overwhelming and sometimes frustrating woman because “'asshole' just doesn't seem to really fit, you know?”

“I think she's sort of brilliant, actually,” Zayn replies honestly, pulling the covers over them once Niall has settled onto the mattress beside him.

“Takes an iron backbone to deal with her,” Niall says as he gathers Zayn up into his arms, pulling him half on top of his chest.

Zayn is smaller than Niall when it comes to physique, which is not all that surprising – he's pretty sure that even Louis has more muscle than he does. Although they haven't had much experience with physical affection beyond sex, Zayn has found that Niall likes wrapping him up in his arms like this, as if he's trying to shelter him away. It's nice, Zayn thinks. He's not really used to that. 

“Tell me about your family,” Niall murmurs after a few minutes of comfortable silence. 

They haven't really talked much about their lives, which seems odd, seeing as they've started spending a good amount of time together, sober. Zayn appreciates the fact that Niall seems to cares but isn't nosy; he asks Zayn how his day went but never asks him to explain why he's so guarded against people or why he never seems to talk to his parents or friends back home.

This is as close to curious as Niall has ever gotten. 

“I've got my mum and my dad,” Zayn mumbles, stopping when Niall laughs over the way he says 'mum'. “Then I've got my sisters. We're not close but we're not like … distant? Don't know how to explain it.”

Niall nods and Zayn lets his eyes flutter shut as he feels a kiss pressed to the top of his head.

“Tell me about yours, then.”

“I've got a dad and _mum_ too. And a brother. We're close. Too close, sometimes. We know everything about each other, and what everyone's up to. But I like that about us.”

“Do they know that you … like guys?” Zayn asks, keeping his eyes closed. 

“Yeah, told them last year, actually. They didn't care, said it doesn't matter to them whether I bring a girl or a guy home, as long as they treat me right. Were your parents okay with it?”

“They, uh … didn't know about me until the whole professor thing.” Zayn sighs. “Caught them off guard. They couldn't look or talk to me for weeks. Then one day, they were both telling me that they loved me and would support me through anything.” 

Even though Zayn can't see him, he imagines Niall smiling.

“We both got pretty lucky then.”

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next morning, after seeing Niall off, Zayn knocks on Harry's door.

Harry answers in a pair of joggers and nothing else, hair sticking up in the back and eyes squinted. 

“'Morning,” he mumbles, scratching at the skin below his waistband. “You're up early.”

“Yeah, Niall stayed over.” Harry's eyebrows raise and he smiles knowingly. “But he had to get up at a bloody insane time for a volleyball game.”

“He plays intramural volleyball?” Harry asks, eyes wider now. “Wow, he keeps getting cooler. Wonder if they wear Spanx like the girls.”

“Uh, don't know? He asked me not to come and watch, said his team is rubbish.” Zayn shrugs. “I was actually going to ask if -”

“Zayn?” The front door opens and Louis traipses in, looking sunnier than he has in a long time. “Are you – oh, hey.” 

Louis stops once he sees both Harry and Zayn standing in the doorway of Harry's bedroom. He smiles a genuine smile and tilts his head a bit as he looks at the two. Even Zayn would have to admit that he looks sort of adorable, all windswept hair and loose white jumper.

“You're up early,” Zayn comments, moving towards Louis.

Louis beams. “Yeah, went over to talk to Eleanor.” The way his eyes are shining with mischief lets Zayn know that he'd gone to see Eleanor for a very specific reason.

“Oh, lovely,” Zayn replies, trying not to grin too stupidly. “Everything alright?”

“Absolutely.” 

They both just stand there and talk without words until the sharp click of a door startles them out of their telepathic communication. 

Harry's gone back into his room.


	11. Maybe We Started This Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the wait, everyone! A commentor requested some smut so here it is ~ it's probably subpar and really awkward but I did my best for you all! Enjoy!

  
_“These are the things, the things we lost,_  
 _The things we lost in the fire, fire, fire._  
 _Flames, they licked the walls._  
 _Tenderly they turned to dust all that I adore."_  
Things We Lost In The Fire - Bastille

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thanksgiving goes by in an unmemorable blur for Zayn, who has the entire suite (the entire campus, really) to himself. Louis had wanted to stay behind, too, but his mum had insisted that he come home to attend a charity benefit she was putting on for orphaned squirrels or something ridiculous like that (Louis' words, not Zayn's). On the other hand, Harry and Ed had been absolutely vibrating with joy at the thought of going home and seeing their families. They'd all been hesitant about leaving Zayn by himself for a week and had even extended offers to take him home with them, but he'd declined all of them (including Liam, who had looked so wrecked at the thought of Zayn spending Thanksgiving alone that there had been a threat of tears).

To be quite honest, Zayn had been _thrilled_ at the idea of spending a week alone from the very moment November rolled around. The moment the door shut behind Ed, the last one out, he'd broken into a freakishly wide grin and had sunk onto the couch, ready for a quiet, peaceful week to himself. Thanksgiving wasn't something he really celebrated anyway, so it didn't matter if he ordered in a pizza the night of, and just watched shitty TV for hours. It didn't feel like he was missing out on anything, not even as he had to endure commercials featuring laughing families and roasted turkeys the size of meteors. He had a good time, believe it or not, sleeping in and reading and watching TV and going to every coffee shop in the tiny town. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Saturday before classes start back up, Zayn is jolted out of sleep by the sound of pounding at the door of the suite. It's ten o' clock in the morning, far too early for anyone to be making such a racket during the holidays, but Zayn gets up anyway. 

His roommates aren't supposed to be back until tomorrow but it's possible that one of them had just gotten too sick of their families to tolerate another day. It could be Louis, carrying too many suitcases to be able to open the door. Or it could be Harry, trying to surprise him somehow. Or Ed, lugging two or three new instrument cases and also unable to open the door. Or it could be -

“Ni.” 

Niall stands on the other side of the door, smiling so wide it looks painful. His hair – growing out and turning darker – is stuffed messily under a snapback and he has a windbreaker zipped snugly over his torso. He has a duffel bag tossed over a shoulder and Zayn realizes that he must've come straight here instead of stopping by the AKL house first. It sends a warm sensation throughout his body and he can't stop a smile from turning up his lips.

“Hi,” Niall says as he steps through the door, tossing the duffel bag onto the floor before wrapping his arms around Zayn. “How was your break?”

“Peaceful,” Zayn mumbles, resting his forehead against Niall's shoulder and closing his eyes. He smells like chilly breeze and spicy cologne and mint. 

“I bet.” 

Niall releases Zayn and then flops down onto the couch, reaching up to unzip his jacket. Zayn watches as the other man shrugs out of the crinkly material and tosses it onto one of the beanbags, revealing a thin, navy blue long-sleeved thermal shirt that clings just a bit. It's just a plain shirt but Zayn feels a familiar turning in his gut, the tug of desire reminding him that he's gone without Niall for an entire week. 

“How was yours?” Zayn asks as he sits down next to Niall, forcing himself to keep his hands to himself. 

Niall chuckles, sounding fond. 

“Crazy, but that's every year. Our oven broke the day before Thanksgiving and Mom almost lost her shit completely, since a bunch of our family from the East Coast was flying in the next day. But it all worked out in the end.”

Zayn nods and smiles, picturing Niall standing in some warm, cozy kitchen and laughing as his mother threw a fit over their useless oven. He'd thought about his own family a couple of times during the week-long break but he'd managed to keep from feeling too sad or homesick. It hadn't been that hard, and that had worried him slightly. Three months and he'd stopped missing his family completely? It didn't seem quite right.

“Hey.”

Zayn blinks back into the present when Niall snakes his arm around his waist and pulls him into his side, pressing a kiss against his temple. Zayn looks up, brown eyes meeting blue, and something within him snaps. It's odd. Before Niall, he'd always been the one to be chased, to sit back as the other person approached and initiated. He'd always been content with waiting around for someone to make the first move but with Niall … he doesn't want to wait. He _can't_ wait.

“Missed you,” Zayn murmurs as he twists himself around on the couch and throws a leg over Niall's lap, straddling him. 

Niall grabs the back of his neck and pulls him in for a kiss, their lips meeting in a hot, wet collision that sends chills down Zayn's spine. Niall's hand dips lower until its dipping below the back of his waistband, where it stops and just presses against Zayn's bare skin. Niall swipes his tongue along Zayn's bottom lip, and Zayn immediately parts his lips, granting entrance. It feels like weeks, not just one week, since they'd kissed last. 

“Missed you, too,” Niall says before his lips start trailing down Zayn's throat. 

Zayn groans and tilts his head back as Niall sucks at the skin lightly, leaving the faintest of marks that will fade within an hour or so. Since that very first time, Niall has refused to leave a mark on Zayn where it's visible. There's never been an explanation for it but Zayn's thankful. He doesn't want to have to go out of his way to hide anything. 

“Yeah?” Zayn asks, breathless as Niall nips at his collarbone. 

“Yeah.”

It takes less than a minute for both of their shirts to be stripped off and tossed to the floor. While Zayn is all delicate bone structure and nonexistent muscle mass, Niall is thicker and sturdier from years of athletics and regular gym visits. Zayn likes the way Niall's arms are strong around him, how Niall can pick him up with ease, even though they're not much different in height. 

“I want to fuck you on a beanbag,” Niall says hoarsely, thrusting up his hips once for emphasis. “How does that sound?”

Zayn lets out a whimper and nods, certain that he's never been this hard. Ever. In his life. He's wearing a pair of joggers but even those seem to constrict his cock in an unbearably agonizing way. 

“That sounds … good.”

As soon as he has Zayn's approval, Niall hoists him up into the air and takes a couple of steps to the closest beanbag before lowering Zayn onto it. He straightens back up and begins unbuttoning his jeans, shoving them down and stepping out of them. Zayn watches, fixated on the pale skin and the bulge in the tight, black boxer briefs and the way Niall bites his lip in concentration as he slides his socks off his feet. He's still wearing his snapback backwards on his head and for some reason, that turns Zayn on even more.

Zayn gestures at his own pants. “Should I?”

Niall shakes his head and crouches down in front of him between his splayed legs. “No, I'll do it.”

Zayn waits with baited breath as Niall takes a hold of the waistband of his joggers and begins inching them down, his blue eyes flickering up once in a while to gauge Zayn's expression. He's taking his time but it doesn't matter; his fingers keep brushing up against the bare skin of Zayn's legs and even that minimal contact makes it worth the wait.

As soon as they're both naked except for their briefs, Niall crawls up and presses his body against Zayn's, capturing his lips for another heated kiss. The pleather of the beanbag sticks to Zayn's already damp back but he ignores it, ignores the plastic beads digging into his skin and concentrates on the way Niall lightly grips a fistful of his hair and tilts his head to deepen the kiss. 

They part when they both need air, but Niall doesn't hesitate a beat before sticking his hand down Zayn's briefs, grinning wickedly as his hand brushes against Zayn's cock. Zayn isn't expecting the sudden contact and arches his back with a throaty moan, their crotches bumping against each other with the sudden movement. Even Niall's breath hitches for a moment. 

Niall drops his head against Zayn's shoulder, breath ragged. “Fuck.” 

They lie there, chests undulating rapidly as Niall wraps his hand around Zayn, his thumb rubbing against the tip and spreading the precum. Zayn needs it, needs it so bad he feels moisture prick at the corners of his eyes. He's not a beggar, has never been the type to ask for what he really wants, but right now, he would scream out how much he needs Niall loud enough for the entire state of California to hear if that's what it took. 

Niall starts jerking harder, as if trying to race the clock. Zayn lets his head roll back and stares up at the records stuck on the ceiling, takes in the way they glint in the morning sun. Niall is breathing heavily above him as he pumps Zayn's cock in one steady fist. If he keeps up this pace, Zayn knows that Niall will get him off within minutes. Reaching down between them, Zayn grabs Niall's wrist and halts him. There's no confusion on Niall's face as he pulls his hand away and instead begins pulling Zayn's briefs down. 

“I'd suck you off but I can't wait anymore,” Niall says as he yanks the flimsy piece of material over Zayn's ankles.

“Okay,” Zayn murmurs in reply, licking his suddenly dry lips. 

Niall stands and pulls off his own briefs, leaving them both naked. _Finally_ , Zayn thinks, his eyes drinking in the sight of Niall in all of his stripped down glory. He reaches up with both hands and Niall understands immediately. He sinks back onto his knees and lowers himself onto Zayn, letting the other man wrap his arms around his back as their lips meet. They break apart when Niall presses his entire length along Zayn and their cocks rub against each other in one smooth, sliding motion that tears the breath out of Zayn's throat. 

“Fuck,” Zayn mutters, shaking his head as he pushes Niall up with one hand against his chest. “I need you to ... _fuck_.”

He has never been so desperate for another person; it feels like his heart is ready to depart from his chest, leave him a bloody, broken mess if Niall doesn't get inside him now. It should be scary but in that moment, Zayn could not care less. Maybe he'll worry later, after the high has worn off and he's alone, worry about this boy who he's known for barely three months and who has already managed to unravel him without even trying all that hard. 

“Okay, okay,” Niall says, sounding just as wrecked. At some point, he'd gotten rid of his snapback.

Zayn watches with hungry eyes as Niall reaches over and begins to root around in one of the side pockets of his duffel bag. He comes out with a bottle of lube in one hand and flips it open, nearly fumbling it once or twice. As soon as he's got the fingers of one hand covered in the liquid, Niall reaches down between Zayn's legs and -

“Oh, _Christ_ ,” Zayn chokes out, struggling not to clamp his thighs around Niall's hand. 

“That feel okay?” Niall asks as he scissors two fingers inside of Zayn, a determined look on his face. 

“Yes,” Zayn replies shortly, reaching up with one hand and gripping Niall's free bicep, digging his nails into the soft skin. “I'm ready, just … please.”

Niall furrows his brow. “Already? I don't want to hurt you.”

“Shut up, I'm fine,” Zayn snaps, eyes blazing. 

Niall looks momentarily shocked but nods in acquiescence before pulling his fingers out. He rifles through the pocket of the duffel bag again, this time emerging with a condom in between his fingers. Zayn yanks it from his grasp and impatiently tears the packet open, fishing the rubber out. Niall sits back on his haunches, eyes glued on Zayn as the other man reaches down and rolls the condom onto his painfully hard cock with nimble, purposeful fingers. Their eyes meet and Zayn doesn't have to speak, he just lies back and hooks his legs around Niall's hips, pulling him closer. 

The first thrust rips a moan out of Zayn. His muscles tense as Niall stops and bends over Zayn, hands braced flat against the floor. He's quivering all over, like there are shocks coursing through him Zayn thinks he can feel it, the electricity. Niall starts moving once he's in a good position, hips pumping forward and then back. His bottom lip is caught between his teeth and Zayn almost reaches up. He wants to hear Niall moan, talk dirty, anything. He wants to hear him. He doesn't want to just hear himself. 

“Niall,” he gasps, grabbing onto the blonde man's shoulders and squeezing. “Talk to me. Please.”

Niall looks down at him, looks confused. “Wh-what?”

A bead of sweat drips from the tip of Niall's nose and lands on Zayn's cheek. He blinks against the sudden drop of moisture and swallows hard. He catches the way Niall's eyes take in the way his long eyelashes flicker and then follow the bob of his throat.

“I wanna hear you,” Zayn says, pulling Niall down until the other man's mouth is right up against his ear. 

“Fuck, okay,” Niall mumbles as he slams himself into Zayn especially hard. “I've been waiting for this all week, you know? My family kept asking me about a girlfriend or boyfriend during dinner and it made me think about you.”

Another aggressive slam of Niall's hips forces a strangled moan out of Zayn. Niall reaches down and grabs Zayn's cock, and a whimper escapes his own throat. It should be weird that they're talking about Niall's family as they fuck but for some perverse reason, it makes him even hotter.

“I had to leave dinner - _Thanksgiving dinner_ \- to jerk off to the thought of you. I – I'm pretty sure you're fucking Satan.”

Zayn's weak laugh turns into a groan as Niall grabs his legs, right behind his knees, and pushes them open. He isn't going to last much longer if Niall keeps thrusting into him this way. He doesn't even need a hand on his cock to come at this point. By the way Niall is heaving out breaths and tensing up, it's safe to assume that he's toeing the edge as well. 

“Ni-” 

They come nearly at the same time, both choking out strangled moans as they come undone. The pleasure is so strong Zayn feels tears run over the lids of his eyes and trail down the sides of his face. Niall slumps forward onto him, unable to hold himself up any longer, and licks the salty tears away with the flick of his tongue. Their sweaty chests are pressed together, moving up and down. 

“Welcome back,” Zayn murmurs as he lets his body settle completely into the beanbag underneath him. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Niall's gone home to AKL by the time Harry, Ed, and Louis arrive the next day. 

Ed is first, followed by Louis, and then a ruffled looking Harry. Zayn doesn't miss the fading purple bruise on Harry's collarbone that his t-shirt only half-hides. He hopes Louis doesn't notice it, but knows that it's inevitable. Things like that never stay hidden. It's just how it works. 

“How was your break?” Ed is asking Zayn when Harry comes storming out of his room.

They both look up to see Harry standing there, a bouquet of roses in one clenched fist. A couple of blood red petals drift onto the floor by his feet. His green eyes are dark and his lips are set in a thin line. He looks first at Ed, then his glares drifts over to Zayn, who sinks further into the couch.

Harry's voice is low and threatening as he calls, “Louis!”

The man in question comes out of his room a few seconds later, blue eyes unsure as he takes in the sight of Harry and the bouquet hanging upside down in his hand. 

“Yeah?”

“These are from you?” Harry asks, but it doesn't sound like a question.

Louis nods, looking so meek it tugs at Zayn's heart. 

Harry nods once then lets out a sharp laugh. He heads back into his room, leaving a crippling silence in his wake but comes back out seconds later, his other hand clenched around something else. He storms over to the sink, shouldering Ed out of the way. He opens his fist to reveal a lighter. In one smooth move, he flicks it on and sets the dancing flame under one drooping rose. They all watch, stunned, as Harry lights the bouquet on fire, holding it suspended over the sink as he meticulously holds the flame under every single one of the dozen flowers. 

Zayn hadn't known it was possible. He'd never imagined anything as beautiful as a rose being burnt on purpose, but as he watches Harry at work, he realizes that just about anything can be destroyed. When he looks over at Louis, he knows that the roses aren't the only thing being reduced to ashes right at that moment.

“You think you can win me over with a bunch of fucking roses?” Harry spits out, dropping the roses into the sink and looking over at Louis. “We don't live in a goddamned rom-com.”

“I'm sorry,” Louis whispers, shaking his head. 

“I know what you think,” Harry says, sounding a little less irate and more sad. “I'm the one who just takes everything and rolls with the punches. I've always been like that. But this … this is too much.” 

As Harry turns and leans forward to turn the tap on to douse the smoking roses with water, the bruise on his collarbone comes into view and Zayn knows, just _knows_ without looking that Louis can see it from where he's standing across the room. He wonders why shit like this happens, why people who love each other have to inflict this sort of torture on themselves and on each other. It doesn't make sense that this level of heartbreak happens beyond the realm of books and movies and love songs. 

But they always say that real life is stranger than fiction. It's also a lot more painful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know that most of the relationship angst has involved Harry and Louis so far but don't worry, Zayn and Niall are not immune! Hint hint ...


	12. Coward to the End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SOOOOO sorry for putting this on hiatus and just ignoring it. I read through it again last night and found myself missing it, so I wrote up a chapter really quickly, having discovered some muse. I probably won't update it super fast now or anything, but I'm determined to see it through. This chapter is shit and is super short, but it gets the ball rolling again, I hope. Let me know what you think, and again I'm sorry. :(
> 
> Disclaimer still applies.

  
_"You're never gonna love me, so what's the use?_  
 _What's the point in playing a game you're gonna lose?_  
 _What's the point in saying you love me like a friend?_  
 _What's the point in saying it's never gonna end?"_  
Lies - Marina and the Diamonds

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Final exams hit them all at once, jerking them out of their post-Thanksgiving haze and right into a state of panic.

They have three weeks before Winter Break, and two of those weeks are Dead Week and Finals Week. Zayn isn't all that concerned; he's doing well in his classes and besides an organic chemistry exam, most of his finals are papers. On the other hand Harry and Ed are running on empty by the time Dead Week rolls around, getting in about four hours of sleep per night. Louis doesn't seem at all fazed, which Ed explains away by telling Zayn that Louis has never had trouble with classes and has pulled a solid 4.0 every semester so far. 

The only thing worth looking forward to for the remainder of the semester is the AKL party taking place on the Friday before Finals Week begins. It's a Christmas-themed party (well, _holiday_ -themed, officially, since Liam had brought up the valid point that not everybody celebrates Christmas, specifically). As Niall announced to Zayn's suite, no one's allowed through the doors unless they're wearing something festive, which effectively kills any trace of enthusiasm Zayn has for the party (and it's a very, very miniscule trace, at any rate). Lucky for him, Harry has a disgustingly large collection of festive knit jumpers that he can choose from.

The night of the party, Harry and Zayn make the short trek to AKL, fairly quiet and subdued. Ever since the rose bouquet debacle, Harry has been especially withdrawn. He keeps up a brave front, always smiling and acting cheerful when he's around other people, but the happiness never reaches his eyes and it's clear that he's playing the part of perfectly okay rather half-heartedly. Louis, on the other hand, has gone from his normal emotional despondency to oddly vocal, seeking Zayn out to get updates about Harry on a daily basis. Clearly his first failure at making up with Harry has only motivated him to try harder. 

The two get into the AKL house with little trouble, wading into the mass of people congregated in the foyer. There are people wearing elf ears, reindeer horns, Santa hats, sweaters with blinking LED lights – obviously people had taken the theme seriously. The music of the night is a horrendous combination of traditional Christmas songs with a dub step beat that should be impossible to dance to, yet an inordinate amount of people are grinding and swaying on the dance floor to a mix-up of 'Deck the Halls' and a Calvin Harris song. Zayn finds himself especially disturbed by the sight of some guy dressed as Santa practically dry hump a girl dressed in a red and white candy cane dress that's riding up past her rear. 

“This is fucking crazy,” Harry says loudly, inches away from his ear. 

“Yeah, it is,” Zayn replies, turning his head so Harry can hear him.

Ed and Louis had begged off from the party, citing homework and fatigue as excuses and although Zayn had believed Ed, he'd known that Louis just wanted to give Harry some space. Now that it's just the two of them, Zayn's not even sure what they should do. He wants to go find Niall but he doesn't want to leave Harry by himself, even though he's sure Harry would be more than successful at finding someone to dance or talk with. But he's always disliked those friends, the ones who ditch out to go do their own thing at a party with a bunch of strangers. 

“Where's Niall?” Harry asks next, pressing against Zayn as a group of girls in matching elf costumes squeeze past them on their way to the dance floor. 

Zayn's about to reply with an 'I don't know' when he looks over and sees a familiar figure up at the DJ stand, Santa hat with attached beard on his head. Niall is bobbing away over the board, one fist pumping the air in time with the beat. Zayn feels a heat crawl up his neck and onto his face. Not because he's overwhelmed by the sight of Niall in his thin red tank but because he's really quite embarrassed for the other man _and_ for himself, who's currently shagging said man. For a long moment, he and Harry just stare at Niall as the blonde man sways his hips suggestively to an electronic mix of 'Carol of the Bells'.

“Christmas will never be the same for me,” Harry says into Zayn's ear, sounding forlorn. 

“Bloody hell,” Zayn replies, shaking his head. “Can't believe I'm shagging that. Where's my self-pride?”

Harry guffaws loudly and leans his forehead against Zayn's shoulder as he laughs. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

An hour later, Liam successfully yanks Niall away from the DJ booth, shoving him onto the dance floor before commandeering the mic for himself. Ever the gracious host, Liam makes a short speech about how he's so happy that everyone decided to come and how he hopes everyone has a great finals week and holiday break (his speech is punctuated by a few boos and several good-natured 'fuck off, Payne's, which Liam takes in admirable stride and one discreet flipping of the middle finger). Zayn and Harry watch from their spots at the edge of the dance floor, against a wall. They've done nothing so far except stand in the foyer area, drinking beers and talking to the handful of people they know.

Honestly, Zayn just wants to see Niall, but the blonde man had disappeared after being ousted from the DJ stand and Zayn hasn't seen him since. He assumes that he's being pulled here and there by his mass amount of friends, so Zayn's not all that concerned. But he's a bit tired of standing around doing nothing and their supply of alcohol is now gone, so it seems like a good time to move. Plus, Harry keeps making eyes with a blonde girl across the room and although Zayn isn't sure if Harry's even interested in females, he can tell when two people are making sex eyes at each other and are seconds away from making good on the suggestive glances they're exchanging. 

“I'm going to find something to drink,” Zayn says, largely ignored by his friend. “I'll meet you in a bit.”

Harry nods but starts moving before Zayn does, vanishing into a crowd of people. Zayn shrugs and makes his way towards the staircase, waiting patiently as one line of people try to make it up as another tries to make it down. He pretends like he doesn't notice the flickering looks he gets from several girls who clearly have never seen him before or haven't heard about his thing with Niall (by now, it's sort of big news within the Greek community; it's not every day that a frat bro starts getting serious with a male foreign exchange student) but he still feels the interested stares.

Once on the second floor, Zayn heads toward Niall's room, knowing that he'll either find the man himself or, at least, the bottle of whiskey he has hidden in the back of his closet. He's almost there when he hears loud, unfamiliar male laughter and then someone saying Niall's name. He doesn't want to eavesdrop and he knows that there's probably a good reason for Niall's name to be popping up in conversation in his own frat house, but nonetheless, Zayn slows his steps until he's practically crawling past the room. 

“I still can't believe he's fucking that guy,” someone says. “Like, okay, you like dudes, that's chill, but I thought it was a one time thing?”

Another guy speaks up and says, “Bro, Horan's actually just into girls, everyone knows that, but you know how he is. He's, like, trying to make a point.”

“A point?” The first guy asks before cracking up into laughter. “What, that he can get his dick into a guy's ass? That's not surprising, he could probably talk a lamp into sleeping with him.”

“No,” the other guy replies, “that he will always get more than anybody else on this campus, whether it's pussy or dick.” 

There's an uproar of laughter and several chants of 'Horan' before they settle down. Zayn's frozen by then, hovering near the cracked open door where he knows he can't be seen but he can hear every word clearly. He's not sure how to feel emotionally, but his gut is twisting and his blood has gone glacial in his veins and that's answer enough as to how he's taking this. He needs to keep moving, he needs to just walk away but before he can muster up the strength, a different guy starts talking.

“So the guy he's fucking right now, that British dude – is it serious?” His voice is tinged with amusement, like he finds his own question comical. 

“Horan let him spend the night here before,” somebody says. 

There's a moment of silence, as if everyone's taking the time to carefully consider the statement and its implications. 

“Have you been listening to some of the shit people are saying, though?” someone asks. “They're saying this guy is like, the hottest motherfucker on campus. These girls in my biology class were talking about him and said that just looking at him basically makes them want to cream themselves. I mean ...”

Another pause. 

“Yeah, Horan's totally trying to make a point.”

And then they start laughing again.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Zayn is out the front doors of AKL within minutes. 

He doesn't even notice his name being called multiple times or that someone is trying to get his attention until there's a hand on his shoulder, spinning him forcibly around and to a halt. He can't focus for a second, his mind so zeroed in on escaping and nothing else, and it takes him several seconds to realize that it's Niall in front of him. There's a worried look on the other man's face, his brows furrowed under his messy, sweaty fringe. The Santa hat is gone and it's just Niall now, looking confused. Zayn hates him for it, wants to punch him squarely in the face. But instead he just recoils, shaking Niall's hand loose from his shoulder.

“Zayn,” Niall says, shaking his head slowly. “What's going on?”

Zayn can't speak for a long while, his breath ragged and mind racing with hollow thoughts. He should've known, really. He should've known from the very beginning when Niall would only ever show up drunk and ready for a shag. Why he'd stuck around, Zayn's not sure. Why he looks concerned right now, as if he actually cares, Zayn doesn't know. But he knows that it pisses him off, that it genuinely enrages him. He could've gotten used to the idea of a platonic fuck on a regular basis but Niall doesn't even fuck him for the pleasure, he just fucks him for a purpose. 

“I'm going home,” Zayn says at last, starting to walk away backwards.

Niall frowns deeply before quickly stepping up to Zayn and grabbing onto his bicep.

“Hold on, I haven't seen you all night.”

“Sorry about that,” Zayn spits, tugging his arm out of Niall's grip. “Did I ruin your plans? Are you disappointed that you're not going to get your shag in for the night? But you're bloody Niall Horan, everybody in there's gagging for your cock, aren't they?”

The silence that ensues is so heavy that it makes Zayn's skin crawl, makes him wonder if the universe has temporarily come to a standstill. Niall's completely expressionless, his face an expanse of shocked blankness. 

“What. The. Fuck.” When he eventually speaks, Niall's voice is deadly. 

Zayn cringes and steps back, crossing his arms but really just wrapping his arms around himself. He glances up at Niall through his lashes, watches the other man as he runs a hand through his hair and turns to the side so that his face is in profile. He lets out a bark of disbelieving laughter and shakes his head a few times before looking back at Zayn.

“Who the fuck did you talk to tonight?” he asks. “Where the hell is this coming from?”

“I – I heard some people talking, alright?” Zayn snaps out, unable to hide the edge of desperation in his voice. “They – they were talking about how you really actually like girls but you – you sleep with blokes to make a point, that you can shag anyone you want to, and – and that I'm just … one of them.”

Zayn watches as Niall's face crumbles, the cobalt steel in his eyes melting into a sad cerulean. 

“Fuck, Zayn,” he mumbles. “That … that's not true. Not about you.”

“But you do, though,” Zayn murmurs, feeling another crack open up within him. “You shag guys because you like showing people you can.”

Niall sighs. “It's not exactly like that, okay? I'm bi, it's not like I'm straight and sleeping with guys. I _do_ feel sexual attraction toward other men. But no, I've never wanted to _date_ one or be serious with anyone who's not a female. Which isn't saying much because I've never _really_ wanted to get serious with anyone. But you … I think you're making me think differently?”

It's the uncertainty and questioning in Niall's voice during that last sentence that finally breaks Zayn. 

“Yeah, I get it,” Zayn says, resigned. “Night, Niall.”

This time, when he turns around and begins walking, Niall doesn't stop him.


	13. Walking Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So super short filler chapter, but seeing as I've been so bad about updating this story, I'm trying to turn a few chapters out for all the lovely people who stuck with this and don't hate me. I know I haven't replied to individual comments, but please know that I appreciate all your comments and you all truly bring a smile to my face. ((((: Enjoy!
> 
> Disclaimer still applies.

  
_"Sunlight creeps in between the curtains_  
 _Lose the sheets there's no time for sleep_  
 _I lie, I pretend ‘til I'm almost certain_  
 _It's a beautiful world."_  
Beautiful World - Breathe Carolina  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“It's been a couple of days,” Harry says softly as he drags a hand through Zayn's limp hair. “Maybe you should talk to him now? Let him explain?”

“Yeah, that's bloody hypocritical of you, isn't it?” Zayn retorts, voice lacking the necessary sting to be hurtful. “You and Louis haven't properly spoken since you set the roses he gave you on fire. Plus, he already explained.”

Harry sighs and Zayn just closes his eyes. He's stretched out on the couch, head in Harry's lap. Harry had found him face-down and eerily silent. After returning from an all-day cram session at the library, Harry had immediately gone from stressing about his finals the next day to stressing about Zayn's emotional wellbeing. Zayn had eventually spilled the story despite fighting valiantly to keep it a secret. He hadn't wanted to put into words what had occurred on Friday because the more he thought about it, the more humiliation and hurt he felt. But Harry's persistence had won out in the end. 

“He's probably just confused,” Harry murmurs, gently poking at Zayn's cheek. “He was probably caught off guard when you confronted him and didn't have the right words to say what he really meant and -”

“Are we still talking about Niall or is this about you and Louis now?” Zayn cuts in, opening his eyes and looking up at Harry, who looks appropriately sheepish at the calling out.

“I don't really know,” Harry admits. 

As if he'd heard his name being mentioned, the door opens and Louis comes in. He has a plastic box of cookies in one hand and a canvas bag lumpy with books draped over the opposite shoulder. His cheeks are tinted pink from the cool breeze ruffling the trees outside and he smells fresh and sharp from the outdoors. He's got on a forest green knit sweater, tight dark jeans and a navy blue peacoat, and his hair is done up in a modest quiff. He looks like he's stepped out of a J. Crew catalog. He looks good. When Zayn looks up at Harry, he catches the way Harry bites down his bottom lip as he watches Louis.

Louis glances up after toeing off his shoes and looks momentarily startled to see Zayn and Harry on the couch just staring back at him. He smiles hesitantly at them. 

“Hello,” he says. “Would you like some cookies?”

Harry stays silent but Zayn sits up and nods. He doesn't actually want a cookie, he hasn't got much of a sweet tooth, but Louis has one of those soft, open looks on his face that people rarely get to see. Louis approaches them and then slides the cookies onto the coffee table in front of them. Zayn opens the box and grabs a cookie, glancing at Harry as he crams the sugary morsel into his mouth (he can't pinpoint what they are, but he can tell that they've got roughly a dozen ingredients in them). There's a strange look on Harry's face as he stares at the cookies lying in front of him. 

“Are these the cookies from ...”

“Yes,” Louis replies, shrugging. “We – I haven't had them in a while and -”

Harry gets to his feet abruptly and starts to move towards his room but Louis is quicker. He darts out in front of Harry and braces his palms against Harry's chest. All three of them know that Harry could easily lift Louis and set him out of the way but he just stands there, frozen under Louis' touch.

“Just eat one,” Louis pleads. “ _One_. Please. They're your favorite.”

Harry stares down at Louis with an unreadable expression and the tense pause drags out for what seems like minutes before Harry backs away from Louis. Louis drops his hands and just watches as Harry walks past him and into his room. The door clicks shut seconds later. Zayn's about to say something, probably something stupid and unhelpful, but Louis is already in motion, grabbing the carton of cookies and hurling them at the nearest wall. The cookies explode into little pieces and litter the carpet but Louis clearly doesn't care; he also just walks to his room and disappears inside. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Zayn ignores Liam the next day in sociology class, but it's easily explained by the fact that it's their final exam and they shouldn't be speaking anyway.

He finishes before Liam, Cher and Perrie and makes a hasty exit, not wanting to face any of them. The moment Liam had stepped into the room he'd given Zayn a small, sad frown but Zayn had just looked away, casting his eyes down at the notebook spread out in front of him, a clear sign that he wasn't interested in talking. Liam's not an idiot, so he'd just nodded once and taken his regular seat next to Zayn and hadn't said anything besides, 'Good luck on the test'. 

Once out in the chilly afternoon air, Zayn takes a deep breath and slumps against the nearest wall. He hasn't seen Niall in a couple of days but it feels like it's been weeks, as cliché as it sounds. He misses the other man's bright, toothy grins and his tendency to break out into odd dance moves at any hint of music. He misses the way Niall looks in a tank, all alabaster skin and lean muscles, and the way he looks after sex, roughed up and languid. It hurts that someone so lovely could also be so thoughtless and two-faced, and Zayn can't quite wrap his mind around it. 

“Zayn!”

Zayn glances up to see Eleanor stalking towards him from across the quad, her pleated maroon skirt billowing around her tights-clad legs. There's a cold set to her face that makes it apparent that she's not approaching to make pleasant small talk. Zayn wonders fleetingly if Eleanor _ever_ holds meaningless conversations. She doesn't seem like the type to waste her breath on words that don't have purpose.

“Hey,” Zayn says once Eleanor is within feet of him. “What's -”

“So I heard about Friday,” she says, and yep, Zayn was definitely right.

“Does everyone know, then?” Zayn asks, exasperated. “Is anything sacred anymore or -”

“Oh my god, shut up,” Eleanor says, her voice never rising above a conversational volume. “Are you an idiot?”

Zayn opens and closes his mouth in shock for several seconds. “I'm sorry, what?”

“You totally attacked Niall for no reason! I went to see him last night because he hasn't been returning any of my texts and he looked like shit. He told me about what you said and he just feels so bad and he keeps beating himself up over it.”

Zayn would never admit out loud that he gets a jolt of satisfaction from Eleanor's words.

“But I think it's stupid, because he didn't even do anything. You're acting like a total dick.”

Again, Zayn flounders for a reply. 

“I don't – what are you saying, exactly? Are you trying to insinuate that _I_ messed up somehow?”

Eleanor sighs deeply and flicks a tendril of hair over her shoulder. 

“I'm just saying that you're acting like a child. You didn't listen to a word Niall said, and you just ran away. That's not how an adult acts.”

“I apologize that I don't live up to your standards of maturity,” Zayn replies coldly. “But my business with Niall isn't any of your concern.”

“Niall is one of my best friends,” Eleanor says, her tone just as frosty. “I don't like seeing him getting hurt.”

“Oh, come off it,” Zayn scoffs. “He's the one going around shagging people to prove that everyone wants him. I was just another challenge to him.”

This time, it's Eleanor who's rendered speechless for a moment. 

“Are you serious, Zayn? Do you know Niall at all? Do you not see how kind he is, how thoughtful? He never treats _anyone_ less than they deserve.” 

Zayn says nothing, so Eleanor continues, her voice softer.

“Have you seen the way he looks at _you_?”

It's far too soppy for Zayn, too movie-sweet to be palatable. He rolls his eyes and pushes himself away from the wall with every intention of excusing himself from this conversation. That familiar twisting in his gut is flaring up again and he just … can't. 

“Don't walk away from me,” Eleanor says, reaching out to put a firm hand on Zayn's arm. “Stop fucking running away for like, one minute.” 

“Wow, Eleanor Calder stepping out of her role as the most refined lady on campus and using profanity,” Zayn snaps. “Have I ruffled your perfectly groomed feathers?” 

Eleanor's eyes narrow and Zayn winces as her manicured nails dig into him. 

“You're the one who doesn't deserve Niall.” Her voice is harsh and low. “If anyone's the heartbreaking whore in this situation, it's you.” 

Zayn will wonder later what they must've looked like in that moment, too close to not be out of place, looking at each other with identical expressions of wide-eyed disbelief. 

“Yeah, you're probably right,” Zayn chokes out before yanking his arm away. 

As he strides away, he hears Eleanor cursing under her breath.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Winter Break rolls around but Zayn still refuses to go home. 

The dorms are open for international students and so he finds himself reliving his Thanksgiving Break, alone in his suite with only the eerie quiet. This time, though, he feels guilty about having shot down his mother's request for him to come home. Christmas is a big deal for his family, a time for them to come together and celebrate another year coming to a close. But he'd made up half-hearted excuses as to why he couldn’t make it home, not even trying to sound appropriately repentant. After he ends the call with his mother, he wonders when he'd become such a heartless bastard, and if maybe he'd been one all along. 

On Christmas Eve, he talks to Louis over the phone for a solid hour and listens to his friend – who's drunk and celebrating his birthday – as he explains in painstaking detail how Harry had surprised him last year by showing up in Santa Barbara on New Year's Eve. _“We kissed before midnight and at midnight and after midnight and then we fucked in my parents' bed because they were gone to New York City, and …”_ \- by the time Zayn manages to get Louis off the phone, he's partially depressed and partially comforted by the fact that somebody else is as miserable as he is on the cusp of one of the happiest holidays of the year. 

On Christmas Day, he sits on the floor of his bedroom and opens the package his mum had sent him, along with the gifts that Ed, Harry, and Louis had left behind for him. He Skypes Ed after breakfast and nods along dutifully as his roommate plays him a Jack Johnson song on his new guitar, then texts Harry a 'MERRY CHRISTMAS TO YOU TOO, HAZ!'. He doesn't hear from Louis until later that day, a text that simply says: _Thanks for listening to me last night, I'm such a prick sometimes. Merry Christmas!_

After eating dinner (which consists of some biscuits from his mum's package and a cup of tea), Zayn treks out into the cool winter evening and strolls around the deserted campus. There's a thin layer of snow on the ground, just enough that the sidewalks are covered in a fine dusting. Zayn stares down at his feet as he walks, hands jammed into the pockets of his fluffy down jacket. He tries not to think about anything in particular, and succeeds for a respectable amount of time, but it's inevitable that his thoughts turn to Niall eventually. 

He imagines the blonde man in his home, chatting with his family and laughing and having a good time. He imagines Niall in a fluffy sweater with his hair messy and mug of egg nog in hand, the multicolored lights from the tree casting colorful dots across his skin. Those images are enough to have Zayn cringing, his stomach clenching and a lump forming in his throat. He has to stop and take a seat on a bench by the Administration Building, ignoring the wet chill of snow melting into the seat of his pants. He stares up at the stained glass windows of the old building and traces the paths of the ivy crawling up the side of the brick walls with his eyes, trying to tamper down the sudden onslaught of emotion. 

He sits there for a long, long time, looking but not seeing. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

He spends New Year's Eve switching between phone calls with Harry, Ed, and Louis, and fielding Skype calls from the handful of friends back home in England. By the time midnight rolls around, he's exhausted and more than ready to sink into the welcoming softness of his mattress, despite having done nothing of great importance or excitement. 

At around one, his phone lights up next to his head on his pillow and he blinks out of his half-sleep, fumbling to open the message in a bewildered rush. At first, all he can take in is the message itself, which reads: _Hope you had a good New Year's. I know you're still mad and probably won't believe me, but I wish I could've been there to kiss you at midnight._

Zayn squints, confused, until he sees the name at the top of the screen. The message is from Niall. 


	14. Throw Me Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so fairly long chapter (at least for me). There's a good combination of angst/fluff/smut in this one, so enjoy! I haven't edited this chapter yet, so if there are any mistakes, forgive me ~
> 
> Disclaimer still applies.

_"And if I was James Dean, you could be my Audrey,_  
 _Breakfast at Tiffany's for two._  
 _So throw me away 'cause if I were a boomerang_  
 _I'd turn around and come back to you."_  
Boomerang - The Summer Set

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Second semester rolls around and new classes begin, but as far as personal lives go, not much changes for anyone, it seems.

Harry and Louis still treat each other like strangers, Ed still spends most of his time with his friends who don't have so much drama, and Zayn starts up on round two of the whole 'avoid close personal connections with other people' effort. He hasn't heard from Niall since the New Year's text, which isn't surprising since Zayn had never texted anything back. 

Zayn's not sure if he was expecting Niall to keep trying without any encouragement from Zayn whatsoever, but when he thinks about it, he realizes that if he'd ever really expected that, he was an idiot. He knows enough about Niall to know that he's the type of person who doesn't push that hard when it comes serious matters, who doesn't nag or persist when it's not welcome.

“So Greek Week is coming up in a few weeks,” Liam says one day as they wait for their class to begin.

They'd agreed to sign up for another sociology class, just to have at least one class together, and they'd chosen a course on food and culture, reasoning that it wouldn't be too difficult and would possibly be an excuse to eat odd foods. 

“Yeah?” Zayn replies, trying his best to insert some interest in his voice.

Liam nods. “Yeah, it should be a good one this year. A bit early, but we finished up planning last weekend and it should work out regardless.”

Liam and other members of the Greek elite had gone on a retreat to some lake resort the past weekend, and Liam had come back infused with even more Greek pride to spread around. Zayn hasn't seen him wear anything not emblazoned with his fraternity insignia in days. 

“So what's Greek Week, exactly?” Zayn asks, just as their professor comes traipsing in with what appears to be a safari hat on his head.

“Well, we run a food drive the entire week, then there's a scavenger hunt where you partner up with someone from the house you're paired up with, and then there's the chariot races and -”

The professor begins talking and Liam falls silent, but he shoots Zayn a look that clearly says, 'I'm not done yet'. Zayn tries to imagine being that invested in something like this Greek Week affair, but he really can't. He's never been a part of something the way Liam and all the other Greeks are, all bonded together simply because they decided to join a certain living community. The idea of it simultaneously repels Zayn and intrigues him. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Zayn spends a good chunk of January visualizing what might happen when he runs into Niall again, but he's sorely unprepared when it actually becomes a reality. 

He's sitting against a wall in the hallway of the chem building, waiting for his next class to begin. He's scrolling though his Instagram feed on his phone with so little interest that he's pretty sure it's pure laziness that keeps him from exiting the app. He's looking at the photo Harry's posted today, a tastefully filtered snapshot of himself in a mirror. He's pointing at the t-shirt he's wearing which inexplicably features a blown-up photo of Amanda Bynes' face, wig and all. Zayn's drawn more to the bony jut of Harry's shoulders and the way his hands look huge in proportion to his spindly wrists but he pushes that out of his mind. Harry's been working out more and eating healthier, and it's slowly starting to become noticeable.

He's moved on to a photo of a cross-eyed cat when he hears footsteps coming towards him. He doesn't look up, assuming it's just some stranger about to pass by, but then the footsteps come to a halt right in front of him and he has no choice but to glance up. But he knows who it is as soon as he catches sight of black Nike high top sneakers. 

“Hey.”

Niall's standing there in all of his relaxed California glory, a red hoodie tossed over a thin white shirt and his hair raked a bit to the side in a semi-quiff (Zayn thinks that Niall maybe touched up the color recently, because his hair looks lighter than the last time he'd seen him). His hands are buried in his jeans pockets and he looks almost sheepish as he returns Zayn's gaze. 

The first thing Zayn thinks to ask is, “What are you doing in the chem building?”

“Um, I'm trying to find a professor's office,” Niall says uncertainly, as if he's not sure himself.

Zayn nods, says nothing because there's nothing to say. He looks back down at his lap, begins pushing at a cuticle. 

“How've you been?” Niall asks after a bit. 

Zayn shrugs and looks up. “Alright. Settling into my classes.”

Niall smiles slightly, a genuine quirk of the lips. “I'm sure you're already acing all the exams and getting perfect grades on your coursework.”

“Maybe,” Zayn replies elusively, doing his best not to smile back. “It's too early to tell. How about you?”

“I'm doing okay,” Niall says.

Zayn watches closely as Niall breaks eye contact and looks away down the hall, shuffling his feet in a way that Zayn suspects is nervous or uncomfortable. He's never really seen Niall truly nervous or uncomfortable, at least not in his presence. They've come to the end of common pleasantries and this is usually where they'd branch off onto a topic of some sort, but obviously they can't. Not if they want to bump into the boulder that's been sitting in the middle of their relationship for nearly a month now.

“How's Harry and Louis been?” Niall asks, his eyes flickering back to Zayn. 

“The same,” Zayn replies nonchalantly.

Niall seems to struggle with that answer, as if going back in his mind to figure out what 'the same' might mean before nodding and frowning regretfully.

“Oh, that’s too bad.”

Zayn glances down at his watch and sees that his class begins in five minutes so he gets to his feet as gracefully as possible and shoulders his backpack. They're standing face to face now, and the proximity in height seems daunting all of a sudden. It felt safer when he was sitting on the ground and couldn't look so closely into Niall's face.

Zayn takes a few steps back and hunches his shoulders.

“I have – uh – class.” 

Niall nods. “Right, uh -”

Zayn tries to step around Niall but Niall sidesteps him, blocking his way again. 

“Zayn. Listen.”

“I'm going to be late, can we -”

“No, we won't talk later because you'll just keep avoiding me. I don't want to corner you like this, that's not my style, but I haven't seen or talked to you in so long and ...”

They both fall silent; Niall looks out of breath and Zayn is just … he's got nothing.

“I know what Eleanor said to you,” Niall murmurs. “She told me the day it happened but I haven't been able to forget it, you know? I try to imagine her calling you a – a _whore_ and I feel so fucking angry that she would ever say that to you.” 

Zayn lowers his head, refuses to make eye contact. His heart is beating rapidly in his chest and it feels heavy. He bites down on his lip, not wanting to show Niall any sign of hurt or pain. Because if he's perfectly honest with himself, Eleanor's words _had_ hurt. They still did, because he'd subconsciously thought of himself as just that - a whore - for so long now, and it was painful to hear someone else support the thought. 

“You're not, though,” Niall says. “If anyone's a whore, it's me.”

Zayn shakes his head as he reaches up to scratch at his tear duct. He needs to get rid of the itching, the prickling because he will _not_ cry. Not here, not right now, not ever. Well, maybe not not ever, but never about _this_. But Niall seems to think that he's already crying because a pair of strong arms wrap themselves around Zayn's body and tug him close to an even stronger chest. Zayn freezes for a moment before slumping forward, resting his forehead against the soft material of Niall's hoodie stretched over his shoulder. 

“After knowing you for a couple of weeks, I think I thought that I was ready to be serious with you,” Niall mumbles against Zayn's thick hair. “But I guess I was wrong. And I'm sorry.”

Zayn abruptly pulls away and straightens the strap of his backpack over his shoulder, once again refusing to meet Niall's eyes. 

“That's okay,” Zayn says, voice as steady as he can make it. “It wasn't like I was _expecting_ it, you know? You're not obligated to date me just because we shagged a few times.”

“Zayn,” Niall begins before breaking off with a sigh. “I just … I don't want to do this anymore, okay? This whole pretending-like-we-don't-exist thing. I still want to hang out with you and get to know you better. Maybe we can't do that if we're like … sleeping together but maybe we can be … friends? At least for now?”

It feels like Zayn's heart takes an impromptu plunge off Niagara Falls but he finds himself nodding almost immediately. 

“Yeah, that'd be good. Yeah. Of course.”

Niall hesitates, like he notices the too-eager edge to Zayn's voice, but says nothing about it. 

“Good, okay. Come by the house Saturday night? We're having a party but nothing big. Bring the guys if you want.”

Zayn again nods stupidly before checking his watch, even though he knows he's already late for class and the time no longer matters much.

“I have to go to class, but – uh – I'll see you soon, then.”

And then he's off, walking down the hall as fast as he can without making it look like he's desperately trying to escape.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

That Friday, Zayn goes with Harry to a party at Brad's house.

He wouldn't have gone if it'd just been him, but he doesn't think letting Harry go off by himself is a good idea, either, so he sucks it up and takes one for the team. Harry had fought him fiercely when he was first notified, telling Zayn that he didn't have to go if he didn't want to and he wouldn't have any fun and he should just stay home, but Zayn had just shrugged off every single argument with an unaffected flippancy. At some point, Harry had just given up. 

They haven't been back since that one night Harry and Brad had started snogging by the speakers, but as they make the walk over, Harry doesn't seem at all nervous or anxious about showing his face again. He had a few shots back at the dorm so he's pink-cheeked and extra gangly, tripping over cracks in the sidewalk far more frequently than when he's completely sober. Zayn just trails behind him, reaching out to steady his friend when necessary.

The party is in full swing when they show up and Zayn almost immediately loses Harry, who gets pulled away from him by a couple of girls who practically _squeal_ over his arrival. Zayn forces his way to the kitchen, usually the best room to hide out in during a party, and leans up against the counter. He's not drinking tonight; he expects to drink plenty tomorrow night when he goes to AKL. He'll need the liquid courage if he's going to even make it to the house. 

He's just standing there, sipping on a glass of water (the water tastes a bit rusty, like blood, and Zayn wonders idly if it's dangerous) when Brad appears at his elbow. He's nearly silent and Zayn jumps a bit in surprise. Brad chuckles, knocks his shoulder against Zayn's in a manner that is far too friendly for two people who've only met once, and briefly. He smells strongly of cheap beer and some sort of cologne. Zayn crinkles his nose.

“Hey, haven’t seen you in a while,” Brad says conversationally as he fills a plastic cup with tequila.

“Uh, yeah, haven't gone out much lately,” Zayn stammers rather awkwardly.

The thing is, he's not quite sure how to approach this interaction. On one hand, Brad's only ever been nice to him, but on the other, he slept with Harry and Zayn can only assume that he knew about Louis. He's not very good at navigating small talk in a normal situation, let alone one that's loaded with history like this one. Zayn takes one step sideways away from Brad, creating a gap between their bodies. The last thing he needs is for Brad to get the wrong idea.

“I haven't seen Harry yet,” Brad says once he's twisted the cap back onto the tequila bottle. “He came, right?”

“Yeah, of course he did,” Zayn replies.

Brad nods distractedly, takes a sip of what appears to be pure hard alcohol. 

“Cool.”

“Yeah.”

They don't speak for what seems like several minutes and Zayn distracts himself by closely watching the beer pong game unfolding in the dining area. One side, consisting of two guys, is getting their arses handed to them by two girls, who are smirking smugly as they watch their opponents chug down their alcohol. One girl is in the middle of demanding that the cups be re-racked into a 'dirty diamond' when Brad clears his throat. 

“Listen, about last time ...” 

Zayn nods but says nothing. He's interested to hear what Brad has to say, what excuses he's come up with. 

“I'm sure you've heard shit about me,” Brad continues. “I'm straight … it's just … when I get drunk, I -”

“Listen, mate, you don't need to explain anything to me,” Zayn says, interrupting because he can't stand to hear whatever Brad has to say next. “So you got smashed and fucked a bloke, that's your business.”

He watches Brad's facial expression transform from sheepish to shocked. 

“What? I haven't fucked a guy.”

Zayn blinks. “What?”

“I've made out with some guys, gotten a blowjob or two, maybe.” Brad looks away, clearly embarrassed. “But I've never _fucked_ a guy.”

Zayn is absolutely thrilled that he hasn't been drinking because his mind needs the extra power to sift through Brad's words. He says nothing for a bit, digesting the fact that Brad has never slept with a guy. He believes Brad because if it'd been a lie, he wouldn't have so blatantly admitted to receiving blowies from another guy. But he'd _heard_ the honesty in Brad's voice and right now, he can practically _feel_ the tension rolling off of Brad.

“So you've never like, shagged Harry, then?” Zayn asks, lowering his voice, even though the only people in the near vicinity are the beer pong players and they're arguing so loudly there's no way they can overhear. 

“What? No!” Brad shakes his head furiously. “I'd never – I mean … Harry's a nice guy and yeah, okay, he's a great kisser but I'd never go that far with him. With any guy.”

Zayn squeezes his eyes closed. “Fuck.”

“Where'd you even hear that, anyway?” Brad asks now. “Like, did somebody say we did?”

Zayn can't very well throw Harry under the bus by saying Harry had said so himself, so he quickly races to come up with a lie. It's not that hard, really, since it seems like _everyone_ discusses Brad's sexuality, at least from what he's seen.

“I think people were just making up rumors, yeah? Because they saw you two snogging and all that.”

Brad nods, looking contemplative. “Yeah, I get it. I could see where people would get the wrong idea.”

Brad's gone from the kitchen within the next minute or two, but not before patting Zayn on the back and thanking him for letting him know that there's a 'rumor' going around about him and Harry. He doesn't seem angry or even put off, really, which tells Zayn that he's either far more intoxicated than he seems or this is familiar territory to him. Either way, it doesn't really matter to Zayn, he couldn't care less about Brad's sexuality crisis.

Zayn doesn't stick around much longer; he almost immediately heads into the living room, eyes scanning the room for Harry. He's not sure if it's anger, relief or just confusion that's swirling around his head but whatever it is, it needs explaining. He spots a curly head by the front door and heads that way, sliding in between people and ignoring a few attempts at capturing his attention.

“Harry!”

Zayn's out on the front porch by then, wrestling the door closed as he tries to catch up to Harry, who's stumbling down the front walkway. 

“Zayn!” 

Harry almost falls over completely as he spins around to address Zayn and Zayn barely makes it in time to catch him. Despite the fact that Harry's waif-thin, he's still taller than Zayn by several inches and the alcohol in his system seems to have turned him into a telephone pole because Zayn can't quite steady him properly and they go tumbling to the grass. Harry lets out a giggle as he lands on his back. Zayn groans, pushing himself up onto his hands and knees. 

“How drunk are you?” Zayn snaps, rubbing his grassy palms against his jeans. 

“Fucking _drunk_ ,” Harry crows happily, throwing his arms out wide on the ground. 

Zayn shakes his head. “I talked to Brad.”

Harry's smile fades only a fraction. “Brad?”

“Yeah, the bloke you supposedly shagged? Or at least that's what you told Louis.”

Harry sits up abruptly and lowers his head into his hands, covering his face. He's utterly still, which means he hasn't started crying or anything. He mumbles something that Zayn doesn't catch and for some reason, that makes him inordinately angry. He reaches out and grips Harry's shoulder, squeezing harder than necessary.

“Why'd you lie? Why would you say something like that to Louis?”

Harry starts to shake his head like a metronome, back and forth, back and forth. Zayn just kneels beside him, quietly watching. After five minutes of this, he gets to his feet and drags Harry up to his so they can begin the walk home. 

Harry can explain later, he reasons. Tonight is not the night for any more revelations.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Harry doesn't emerge from his room once the next day, as if he can sense Zayn, who's been sitting in the living area all day, waiting.

Louis and Ed keep throwing him odd looks every time they pass by, but ask no questions. It's a relatively quiet Saturday and Zayn tries to get some coursework done before he leaves for AKL, but his mind doesn't stray too far from the Harry situation and the fact that he'll see Niall within hours. Niall had texted him this morning, telling him to show up around nine. Zayn leaves the dorm at nine thirty because he took Ed's words about being fashionably late to heart and it seems too desperate to show up right at the designated time.

Niall's roommate, Tony, opens the door. He's wearing a snapback backwards and, inexplicably, a Superman cape. He grins when he sees Zayn and steps back, waving his arm in a flourish. Zayn steps inside, smiling slightly. The house isn't too full tonight, just groups of people milling around the foyer and the living area that's usually the dance floor. He looks over and immediately makes eye contact with Eleanor, who's leant up against the staircase banister. Rita's standing next to her, an arm wrapped around Eleanor's slender waist as she laughs with Cher and Perrie. Eleanor doesn't look away, an unreadable expression on her face, so Zayn's forced to avert his eyes first. 

When it gets to be too much, he heads for the staircase, pointedly ignoring the calls of his name from who he guesses is Cher. He makes it up the staircase in record time and has to pause at the top for a few seconds to breathe. He's not sure why, but it feels like all of his nerves are tingling with anxiety. He doesn't want to be here all of a sudden, wants to be back in his dorm room where Ed is probably strumming his guitar and Louis' flipping through a _Forbes_ magazine and Harry is still hiding in his room listening to Mumford and Sons and maybe crying. The desire to be back in a comfortable setting hits him so hard he has to lean back against a wall and just _stop_.

“Zayn?” 

Niall appears in front of him. Zayn blinks up at him, watches as Niall studies him back. He wonders what he must look like, if he looks the way he feels. He thinks that he might, because Niall looks worried. He reaches out, goes for Zayn's cheek before hesitating and dropping his hand onto his shoulder.

“You okay?” 

“Yeah, I'm fine.” Zayn nods, bites his lip. 

Niall jerks his head to the side, indicating that Zayn should follow him down the hall. He does so, trailing behind Niall with halting, awkward steps. Niall pushes the door to his room open and lets Zayn slip in before closing it. There's a moment of tense silence as Niall maneuvers around Zayn and plops down on his bed, sliding his snackback off his tousled hair and letting it fall onto the ground between his feet. Zayn just watches as the lean muscles in Niall's exposed arms flex with each movement. 

He's not sure what it is – possibly the crushing weight of apprehension and uncertainty, but most likely his feelings for Niall that always seem to be bubbling under the surface – but suddenly he wants to _feel_ Niall's skin under his palms, wants to be so close to the other man that he can feel the hot rush of breath against his own skin. Zayn realizes that he's staring (hungrily, undoubtedly) when Niall clears his throat and Zayn's brought back to reality. Niall's looking up at him dubiously.

“You can sit down, you know,” he says, but Zayn is already approaching him by the time he finishes speaking.

Without a word, Zayn sinks to his knees between Niall's slightly spread legs and places his hands on Niall's jean-clad thighs. The muscles under his palms jump and then tense with surprise, and he hears Niall breathe in harshly at the contact. When Zayn looks up, he sees that Niall's blushing, a sunrise pink covering both cheeks. They just stare at each other for a long moment before Niall reaches out and runs a hand through Zayn's hair, deflating his quiff slightly. 

Niall nods once and that's all the encouragement Zayn needs; he moves his hands and begins undoing Niall's jeans. They get them off together, Niall sitting up and letting Zayn shimmy the material off and down his legs. He lets them stay hooked around Niall's ankles, too distracted by the erection in Niall's tight boxer briefs. His mind comes up with all sorts of cliché, stupid sayings ( _“Long time no see”_ or _“It's been a while”_ ) but he says none of them, instead putting his mouth to use by kissing along the hard outline of Niall's cock through the fabric of the briefs.

Niall exhales sharply. “Fuck.” 

Zayn just lets out a small moan in response, wedging his fingers under the waistline of the briefs and tugging them down far enough that he can kiss bare skin. Niall's hand tightens in Zayn's hair and it's a bit painful, but nothing Zayn can't handle. He tugs down the briefs completely, eyes glued to Niall's fully-hard cock, and only for a split second does he wonder if Niall's been with anyone else like this in the time they've been apart. To drown out those thoughts, he places a kiss to the tip of the cock, revels in the sound that Niall makes.

Niall groans as Zayn wraps his lips around his tip, then mutters out a shaky, “Shit.”

Zayn sinks further down, sliding his tongue along the bottom of Niall's cock. He has one hand on the base of it, and his other hand clenched on one of Niall's thighs. He can feel the way Niall tenses and relaxes that way, can experience the pleasure with him. He's already hard in his own pants but he doesn't think about it, can only think about how Niall's panting above him and straining to keep control. But Zayn doesn't want him to play nice this time, wants him to be a bit rough. In the past, Niall had always been a conscientious lover. It hadn't been boring vanilla sex, but Niall had never shown a tendency for anything kinky or domineering.

Zayn pulls off of Niall's cock, looks up at him. “Fuck my mouth, yeah?”

This time he does let out a pained sound as Niall's fingers grip, hard, onto strands of his hair. But Niall doesn't let go, doesn't soften his grip. There's something in his eyes that Zayn has never seen in him, a hunger that can only be explained by the overused prey/predator metaphor. He's been looked at like a piece of meat before, but the way Niall's looking at him, it's something else. Zayn opens his mouth, waits patiently for Niall to take the next step. Niall gets to his feet, tugs a bit more gently on Zayn's hair until he scoots back on his knees. 

Niall shoves in faster than Zayn had been prepared for but he pulls back for only a bit before leaning forward again. Niall's hand keeps his head in place, rendering him immobile, but it isn't scary the way he thought it'd be. He's not in control but it feels more freeing than anything else, just kneeling there and watching as Niall turns a brighter shade of red, hips pushing forward and pulling back with a rhythmic ease. Zayn relaxes his throat, tries to concentrate on not gagging as Niall's cock bumps the back of his throat over and over. He knows there are tears running down the sides of his face but he ignores them. 

“Fucking hell, Zayn,” Niall manages to gasp out as he stops the thrusting of his hips, letting his cock just press as deeply as it'll go. “Fuck.”

Zayn squeezes his eyes closed, tries to stop from gagging but he can't help it, now that Niall's no longer moving. Niall pulls back slightly but then he's coming undone, letting out a long groan and clenching a fistful of Zayn's hair in one hand. Zayn keeps his eyes closed as he takes it all, keeps them shut even after Niall's slid out from between his red, shiny lips. 

“Zayn?” Niall sounds concerned now, and Zayn flutters his eyelids open.

They study each other for a few seconds before Niall's reaching under Zayn's armpits and hoisting him up to his feet effortlessly. He's already got his briefs back up, covering himself. Zayn realizes then that he'd come in his pants without even touching himself, just from Niall fucking his face. It's a first, that's for sure. He can't seem to formulate words, can't speak, but not because he's just deepthroated a cock, but because now that the sexual tension has mostly dissipated, he's not sure what to do or say next. 

“Just … lie down with me for a bit?” Niall asks hopefully, sitting back down on the bed. 

Zayn nods, crawls onto the bed as Niall kicks off his jeans completely. They lie side by side in silence. Zayn listens to the sounds of people having a merry time down below, trying not to think too much about what's just happened. But it's impossible. 

He's speaking before he can stop himself. “You said we shouldn't get involved.”

Niall sighs softly. “I couldn't really say no when you were in between my legs giving me sex eyes.”

It should be moderately insulting but Zayn just starts laughing, rough and raspy. Niall chuckles as he rolls onto his side and pulls Zayn into his chest. Zayn goes willingly, turning so that he can press his face against the hot, damp skin of Niall's neck. He closes his eyes as Niall's arms wrap around him.

“We'll figure all of this out later, okay?” Niall says. 

Zayn nods, then says, “Can I clean up first or something? I'm a bit uncomfortable.”

Niall lets out a raucous laugh before rolling off the bed.


	15. Smilin' Out Of Fear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You are all so wonderful for commenting and bookmarking and kudos-ing, okay?? So here's another chapter (it's totally a filler chapter, but some important details will be revealed) and hopefully you all enjoy! I don't have a beta so I'm always afraid I'm going to make some plot mistake so please let me know if that happens, because I'm not perfect, obviously. 
> 
>  
> 
> Disclaimer still applies.

  
_"But my head's filling up with the wicked games, up in flames_  
 _How can I fuck with the fun again, when I'm known?_  
 _And my boys trip me up with their heads again, loving them_  
 _Everything's cool when we're all in line, for the throne."_  
Tennis Court - Lorde

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Zayn wakes up to the shrill blaring of what sounds like a … blow horn.

Grimacing, he rolls onto his back and cracks his eyes open, slightly disoriented and foggy-minded. In the bed next to theirs, Tony is snoring at an obnoxiously loud volume, but not so loud that he drowns out the sounds of people's excited voices filling the hallway outside. Zayn glances over at the alarm clock glowing red and sees that it's a little past 3:00AM, which explains why it's still dark inside the room, despite the blinds being pulled up. Beside him, Niall's letting out soft whistles from his nose as he sleeps, his arm tossed over Zayn's stomach. 

For a long while, Zayn just lies there and stares up at the dark span of ceiling, playing over the previous night. It's a bit embarrassing to think back on how he'd practically thrown himself at Niall's cock but at the same time, he's rather proud of himself for being so spontaneous. Sex has never been intimidating or scary to him, really, but he's never been that … _into_ it, either. For him, it's always been a way to diffuse an awkward situation, a bargaining chip, a method of shutting someone up for a few hours. Sure, he'd get pleasure out of it, but he's never experienced that cheesy 'make love' thing. To him, sex has always been just purely fucking. 

He's not sure why, but he thinks of Professor Morgan, of the way he'd run his hands over Zayn's bare skin with the smallest of smiles on his face, like he was touching a priceless painting or an ancient artifact, a once in a lifetime opportunity at his disposal. Sex with him had been as close to making love as Zayn had ever gotten, if only because Professor Morgan had moaned out more than profanities and told him how beautiful he was, had sometimes slowed down to the point where Zayn could practically hear their heart beats pounding in sync. Sometimes, when he'd been with Professor Morgan, it had felt like the older man cherished him, had actually cared about him. 

Now, as he lets his head roll to the side so he can look at the sleeping man beside him, Zayn wonders if he'll ever get the real thing with Niall. If Niall would ever take the time to just _look_ at him like he's never seen anything so mesmerizing. Part of Zayn says yes, part of him says no. The part of him that says yes reasons that Niall is inherently thoughtful and capable of falling in love, while the part of him that says no argues that Niall is young and he's probably in no state to decide, 'this one's the one'. 

Zayn is still lost in thought when the door cracks open quietly. He blinks against the sliver of light, trying to make out who's leaning into the room, staring back at him. After a few more seconds, he sees that it's Liam, dressed in a pair of joggers and a baggy sweatshirt with the school name on it. They just look at each other for a long moment before Liam beckons to him. Zayn obeys, throwing off the duvet and soundlessly crawling down to the end of the bed. He's wearing a pair of Niall's baggy boxers but no shirt, so he pulls one off a hanger from Niall's closet and slips it on as he makes his way over to the door. The soft fabric engulfs him, too big on Niall and even bigger on him. 

Out in the hallway, Liam wraps an arm around his shoulders and leads him down the hall. Zayn doesn't ask where he's taking him, just looks down at the floor and tries to match his steps with Liam's. He realizes once they're on the stairs that it's quiet now, and the entire house seems deserted. He decides not to ask about that, either. 

“Why are you awake?” he asks eventually, once they've made it to the first floor.

Liam shrugs. “Dani spent the night. She kicks in her sleep though, so she woke me up.”

Zayn chuckles, reaches up and squeezes the hand that Liam has hanging over his shoulder. 

“So you've finally got her, have you?”

He looks up to see the sheepish smile on Liam's face. 

“Yeah, I guess I have.”

Liam pushes open two wooden doors and releases Zayn as they step into the room. It's the kitchen, a huge room with industrial-sized appliances and acres of counter space. As Liam starts opening up cupboards, Zayn hoists himself up onto a counter and just looks around. 

“Niall told me a while back that none of you are allowed in here,” Zayn says.

Liam chuckles and glances over his shoulder at Zayn. In his hands is the biggest container of coffee Zayn has ever seen.

“Nah, only Niall's banned, really. The cook has a love/hate relationship with him.”

Zayn nods, not at all surprised. He can imagine Niall trying to turn the kitchen into his own personal palace, stealing tidbits of food and harassing the cook incessantly as if he owns the place. It brings a smile to his face. He keeps smiling as Liam goes about making coffee in a coffeemaker that has clearly seen better days. For a while, it's just a pleasant mix of comfortable quiet and the gurgling sounds of coffee, the rich aroma in the air. 

“Wait, fuck,” Liam says out of the blue. “Do you even drink coffee? Or do you only drink tea?”

He looks genuinely concerned and guilty, which only makes Zayn laugh. He's never met anyone so truly mindful of other people to the point where it's funny. 

“I drink coffee more than tea,” Zayn says after he's gotten his laughter under control. “Milk, though. And a bit of sugar. Please.”

Liam smiles, relieved, and then turns back to preparing their drinks. Neither of them address the fact that it seems like a bad idea to drink caffeine at three in the morning, but Zayn doesn't mind. He doesn't feel like sleeping any longer, anyway. He doesn't think he could relax enough, not even with Niall sleeping peacefully beside him.

They drink their coffee in more silence, side by side on the counter, swinging their legs like they're children again. In that moment, Zayn feels tranquil, free of the anxiety that is constantly festering somewhere inside of him. Sometimes, there are times like this one, where he inexplicably feels at ease. He might be completely alone or in a room full of people, the environment doesn't seem to matter much. It just hits him out of nowhere, and it's always fleeting. 

Liam bumps a shoulder against Zayn's.

“You and Niall worked things out?”

“Um, sort of?” Zayn shrugs, then sighs. “But not really.”

Liam makes a grunt of what Zayn assumes is understanding before bringing his mug to his lips. 

At some point, some guy wanders into the kitchen, half-naked and hand down his pants scratching at his crotch, apparently already looking for something to tide over his hangover. Liam and the guy swap a few snarky comments before the guy exits with a bottle of water and two aspirin, but not before giving Liam a one-armed hug and mumbling a rough, 'Love you, bro'. Zayn has come to find that, as much shit as Liam gets from his frat brothers, he's also the one that everybody seems to love the most. Their steady, smart leader with the maternal instincts. Everyone needs a Liam in their lives, Zayn thinks fondly.

“Well, you should know that Niall's been acting … different, lately,” Liam says. “Like, distracted. Usually he's really chill but he's just been lost in his own head. Probably thinking about you.”

Zayn stays quiet, clutches his mug in his hands. 

“I know what people say about Niall,” Liam murmurs, quieter now. “But it's not like he can't love someone. He's kind of immature, yeah, but people put way too much emphasis on that. Please don't think that Niall's the type of person who'd break someone's heart intentionally.”

Zayn wants to point out the use of the word 'intentionally' and how it doesn't make things any better. The fact is, _anyone_ can break a heart accidentally. It's still a broken heart, shattered on purpose or not, and the hurt is still there. But he doesn't want to argue, not right now, when everything seems fairly okay. 

“Yeah, I get it.”

Liam nods, then brightens moments later. 

“I never finished telling you about Greek Week! So, did I mention the Chariot Races?”

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Greek Week comes fast, before Zayn even knows it. 

He hasn't seen much of either Niall or Liam, since they've been busy 'training' for the competitions. In class, Liam seems to be distracted at all times, texting his frat brothers or Eleanor, and making ridiculously long to-do lists. Apparently, there's something structurally faulty about their chariot that needs to be fixed ASAP and Brent, who's the project leader, is not living up to Liam's expectations (in the middle of class, Liam whispers harshly to Zayn, 'We haven't lost a Chariot Race in four years, I will _not_ allow Brent to ruin our winning streak, even if my life depends on it').

Niall texts him regularly to make up for the fact that they can't hang out much, dumb little jokes or funny stories about his day. They try to meet up on campus for lunch at least a couple of times a week, but besides that, Zayn doesn't see him. Which is both good and bad; after the Night of the Blowjob, as Zayn has come to call it in his head, they haven't discussed their relationship and it's clear that neither of them really know where they want to go with it. So for now, Zayn is okay with the distance, even though he does find himself wistfully thinking about the other man more often than not.

On the Monday that Greek Week starts, Zayn's walking back to the dorms when he sees two people running across the grassy quad like their asses are on fire. They're dressed in brightly-colored workout clothes – headbands, running shoes, gym shorts, and tank tops with numbers and Greek letters stenciled onto the backs. The girl, who's in front, is clutching a rolled up piece of paper in her hand. Zayn watches as they sprint across the road and up to a plastic foldout table where two people are sitting. The girl hands over the paper, receives another paper, confers with her partner, then they're off. 

A minute later, another girl/guy pair appear from behind a building, racing for the same table. This time, Zayn recognizes the guy as Liam and the girl as Eleanor. They look like Superheroes, athletic and perfectly put together despite the fact that they're running around campus like feral animals in neon spandex. Eleanor reaches the table first, hands Liam the paper and they look it over, heads bent together. By this time, Zayn's just standing in the middle of the walkway, watching. He tries to imagine himself getting into something like that and the thought is almost hilarious.

He makes it back to his dorm eventually, where he finds Harry stretched out on the couch, laptop perched on his hips. He looks up at Zayn, then quickly glances back at the screen. He's been distant from everyone lately. They both know why he's avoiding Zayn, but Zayn's chosen to just leave the subject alone. It's really none of his business, anyway, and for the time being, things are quiet. Harry and Louis don't talk much, only when they have to, but it's a civil sort of aloofness. Louis' stopped making hopeful puppy eyes at Harry and seems to have resigned himself. 

Zayn's in his room when his phone buzzes with a text. He opens it, scans it quickly and then grins. 

**From: Niall Horan**  
cher and i won the scavenger hunt today. almost broke my ankle jumping over a fence though.

He's still chuckling when there's a light knock on his open door. He looks up to see Harry hovering in the doorway, hands crammed into the pockets of his skinny jeans. There's a beat of silence, confused on Zayn's part and sheepish on Harry's.

“What's up?” Zayn asks, sinking down until he's sitting in his desk chair, facing his roommate.

Harry sighs and shrugs one shoulder. “I know you're wondering why I lied. About Brad.”

“Yeah, I am.” There's no reason to beat around the bush, really. He really wants to say, 'Took you long enough.'

"I haven't really wanted to talk about it before," Harry says. "Sorry."

Zayn shrugs, tries to give Harry as encouraging a smile as possible.

Harry steps into Zayn's room and then leans against the wall, sliding down a bit. There's a faraway look in his eyes as he focuses on some point above Zayn's head.

“When Louis told me he'd slept with someone in Spain, I just … freaked out. I didn't know what to do or say because I never expected that. Never. I know Louis can be hard to deal with sometimes, and I never know what he's going to do or say next, but I never, ever thought he'd do that, you know?” Harry takes a deep breath. “The lie, it just ... came out. I wanted to see him hurt, too, I think. And that's all there is to it. That's the whole story.”

Zayn nods, because he was sort of expecting this explanation. Harry slides down until he's completely sitting on the floor, head tilted back. They just sit there for what feels like an hour, quiet. It's when the sun starts setting that Zayn gets up and moves across the room to sit down next to Harry. He reaches out and squeezes Harry's knee reassuringly before giving him a small smile.

“I have no idea what you should do next, I'm shit at giving advice,” he says, and Harry chuckles weakly. “But I guess the question is, are you happy?”

“Right now?” Harry asks, and for some reason, there's an edge of fear in his eyes. 

“Yeah, right now.”

“No, not really,” Harry replies. “But I'm not … _unhappy,_ either? I'm just … nothing. And that sounds so fucking melodramatic but it's true. When I see Louis now, it's like … I've shut everything off. The anger, the hurt, the … love, I guess.” 

Zayn knows how it feels what Harry's describing, to an extent. Not that he'll ever say so, because if he hates anything, it's someone saying, 'I understand', as if that solves anything or makes the suffering person hurt less. 

And he can’t help himself, he can't stop his mind from heading into a certain direction.

He thinks about how his sister had heard the rumor about Zayn and the professor from a friend who went to the same uni, how she'd confronted him and how he'd eventually been worn down until he no longer denied nor admitted it, effectively betraying himself. 

He thinks about the stretch of time after his parents had found about his little tryst with Professor Morgan, when he laid in bed for days and punished himself by thinking of all the shitty things he'd done. He thinks about the way his parents would stare at him, then look away abruptly when he finally tried to make eye contact. They were never angry at him, at least they didn't show it, but he knew they were ashamed.

He thinks about Professor Morgan's wife and children and how hopefully, they'd managed to get rid of him from their lives. He knew nothing about them, because Professor Morgan had never talked about them and Zayn had never asked.

He thinks about the first person to ever find out about his secret, one of his classmates who'd heard them having sex as she hovered outside the office door one evening. She let Zayn know, quite subtly, that she knew. A week or so later at a party Zayn ran into her and then slept with her, if only because she clearly wanted it and it was maybe his only hope at convincing her to stay quiet ( _she_ is the girl Zayn had mentioned – lied about, really - to Harry during their game of truth so many months ago). 

It's dark in the room when he and Harry finally get to their feet. It isn't awkward at all when Harry pats him on the back and slips out of the room. It feels like nothing has changed, really.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Zayn _has_ to go the Chariot Races.

Like, he has no alternative because Liam keeps calling him at least once every hour to make sure he's still coming and Niall is blowing up his phone with texts like: _will you be there_ and _if you don't liam will cry and enter a nunnery_ and even _i'll blow you if you do_. The last text catches Zayn off guard and even though he's completely alone, he blushes. He tries to come up with something back, something that could qualify as a 'sext' but all of his ideas are such rubbish he ends up just sending one text that just says: _i'll be there so bugger off_.

He drags all three of his roommates along, ignoring their grumbles as they walk up a hill to the parking lot of the 'coliseum', which is just a glorified name for the building that houses the sports games and larger events. It's chilly and slightly windy, and it'd rained all day long, only stopping a couple of hours ago. But there's still a large crowd gathered around a roped-off track, early awaiting the race. There are hay bales stacked randomly throughout, which Zayn guesses are supposed to be obstacles. As if this couldn't get any more embarrassing for the people involved, Zayn thinks.

Next to him on the right, Harry is slightly hunched over, windbreaker drawn tightly around him. Ed is on Harry's other side, crowding up into Harry's space, presumably trying to leech some body heat off the bigger man. Louis is on Zayn's on left, standing on his tippy-toes so he can look over the shoulder of the burly guy in the front of him. He resorts to jumping like a bunny, little bounces that shouldn't be so cute but kind of are. When Zayn turns to say something to Harry, he catches the fond smile on Harry's face as he gazes at Louis hopping up and down. Zayn doesn't say anything about it. 

The races have begun when there's a loud bleating noise (that bloody blow horn, again) and the first chariot springs into action. They don't have the best views ever, but Zayn can see well enough to witness the chariot break down halfway through the track, one of its wheels detaching itself and sending the chariot lurching off to the side. The rider gets flung to the ground and the two guys steering it trip ungracefully over the now-useless vehicle.

“I can't believe someone would actually agree to this,” Louis mutters, just loud enough so only Zayn can hear.

Three more chariots go by before Zayn recognizes Niall and Brent, then one other guy he's never seen. Niall settles himself into a chariot that has 'AKL' painted onto the sides. It's shaped rather oddly and it's clear that Brent had not taken his chariot-making job very seriously. But Niall looks great, of course, preening and flexing from his place, a plumed Roman helmet on his head. He's wearing a white man tank with something that Zayn can't read from where he stands, but doesn't look at all cold. Louis nudges an elbow into Zayn's ribs and Zayn just smiles meekly. 

As it happens, AKL does _not_ win the chariot race. It turns out that Brent and the other guy are not very skilled chariot drivers and end up crashing it into a hay bale; Niall flies out of it and is only saved from slamming into the pavement by a group of squealing sorority girls who just barely manage to catch him. When Zayn glances over at Liam, who's standing at the start line, he sees that the AKL president looks disappointed but unsurprised, arms crossed and lips quirked into a frown. 

Harry and Ed head back to the dorm soon after the end of the races (during which nearly all of the chariots had either crashed or self-destructed), but Zayn and Louis stick around to wait for Liam and Niall. The two appear about ten minutes later, smiling and bundled up in their fraternity sweaters. Niall slings an arm around Zayn's shoulder and tugs him in close. 

“Well, we didn't win this year,” Liam announces, trying to cover up his obvious sadness with a bright grin. “But hey, there's always next year!”

They all murmur in agreement. 

“Are you coming to the party this Saturday?” Niall asks. “It's being held at Sigma Nu but we can get you guys in. Harry and Ed, too.”

Louis wrinkles his nose as he decides but Zayn's already made up his mind. Parties aren't his thing, especially after the last disastrous one, but he feels like he can't really say no, not when Niall is clearly so excited about it. It's the last _big_ party for the Greeks, a celebration of sorts to mark the end of another Greek Week. 

Louis shrugs. “Maybe, I'll let you know by Friday.”

“Zayn?” Liam asks, reaching over to lightly punch Zayn in the shoulder.

Zayn nods and then smiles a bit when Niall drops his arm from Zayn's shoulders to his waist and squeezes his hip. 

“Good, it'll be fucking fantastic!” Niall crows, and Zayn really hopes so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whenever Zayn talks to Harry or Liam, they only ever have deep, thoughtful conversations, it seems like?? Get ready for the super cool frat party in the next chapter ~~~ Also the commentor who said something about Zarry - I just started laughing because it'd cause such a shit storm if something happened between them and it'd be great drama, but it'd probably be too much, considering how much everyone's screwed up already??


	16. Our Own Separate Sides

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, we got some Ziall AND Larry drama in this one. Parties = drama, right? Enjoy, and thank you for all your lovely comments! I wish I could reply to every single one but I feel like I would say the exact same thing to each: YOU ARE THE BEST AND THANK YOU.
> 
> Disclaimer still applies.

Sigma Nu makes AKL look like Buckingham Palace, to be quite honest.

But it makes sense, Zayn thinks as they wait in line, that the biggest party of the year would take place in the shabbiest, most run down house on Greek Row. It's not like one party is going to really make much of a difference to the house's overall appearance. The Sigma Nu guys probably won't even clean it up, they'll just step around the mess and fester away in their own filth and then leave at the end of the summer for some unfortunate soul to clean everything before Rush Week.

Zayn stops his rambling thoughts, reaching up to rub at a temple. He's been like this nearly the whole night, stuck in his own head and going off on these weird thought tangents that are mostly comprised of rather negative observations. He's almost completely blocked out the swarm of people standing around him, including Louis, Harry and Ed, who've been just as quiet as him. He feels a bit bad, seeing as he'd been the one to drag them to the party in the first place, but he thinks that he's worrying too much. Everything's fine, and everything will _be_ fine.

“The cops are going to be suspicious for sure,” Harry mumbles, chewing on the skin of a knuckle as he glances around.

The line of people waiting to get in leads all the way down the front path and curves down the sidewalk. Zayn nods, because Harry's probably right, but he's not worried as long as he's outside. None of them have had anything to drink yet and they're not carrying any alcohol, so the worst that could happen to them is a curt demand for them to head home. In any case, they'll be better off than the guy a few people down who's swilling a can of Bud Light Lime (Zayn recognizes him from a class and knows for certain that he's _not_ legal).

By the time they manage to get into the house, it's already packed and overheated from the multitude of bodies inhabiting every square inch of the building. Zayn glances back in time to see Louis grimace rather dramatically and then shoot a glare at a guy who barrels past them and knocks Harry rather violently forwards. Harry immediately reaches out and grabs Louis' bicep to steady himself, reaching up with his other hand to shovel back his disheveled fringe. Zayn turns back around to the front and scans the area as they inch forwards, closer to a set of stairs. 

“Hey! Payne!”

Zayn jerks his head around in the direction of the yell and immediately spots Liam, jogging down the stairs with a purpose, snapback backwards on his head and basketball jersey hanging loosely on his wiry frame. In one hand he's carrying a beer bong, in the other he's got a bag full of what appears to be confetti, but the expression on his face would be better suited for someone carrying a briefcase full of hundred dollar bills and a pistol. 

“Here, you dick!” Liam shouts, just barely audible over the music.

He tosses the bag of confetti to whomever yelled his name and then he hands the beer bong off to the person closest to him. It crowd surfs all the way to its rightful owner, its arrival prompting a triumphant cheer. Trust Liam Payne to be in charge of things at a frat that's not even his own and also not to throw a plastic funnel attached to two feet of tubing into a crowd of people. As soon as he finishes his task, Liam disappears into the mass of people and Zayn heads the same way, because Liam probably knows where Niall is, if anyone does. 

“I'm going to go find Liam,” Zayn yells over his shoulder, and waits until his roommates nod in understanding before he starts pushing his way through.

It turns out to be a far more difficult endeavor than he initially thought, because Zayn finds himself being herded up two flights of stairs and down several hallways before he finally gets the chance to rest. People are lined up on both sides of nearly all the corridors, drinking and laughing and chatting. Several people are huddled up together, snapping phone pics of themselves. Zayn can only imagine how many selfies will inundate every single social network the next day. 

Coincidentally, one of the people making gangster signs at an iPhone camera is Niall, sandwiched between two girls with his arms around their shoulders. Zayn just watches for a minute, smiling a bit as Niall makes the most ridiculous faces, puckering up to make duck lips in one. When he finally spots Zayn, he grins so wide his bright white teeth all show. He gives each girl a quick one-armed hug before heading down the hallway towards Zayn, who's just calmly leant up against a wall. 

“You're not a gangster, you know,” Zayn says once Niall is in earshot. “I don't think you should be making hand signs like that.”

Niall shrugs, look sufficiently guilty. “Yeah, I know, sorry.”

Zayn can't stay stern, not when Niall's running a hand through his messy hair and looking down at his shoes like a little kid. Zayn reaches out and wraps his hand around the back of Niall's neck, pulling him in. Niall goes willingly, his body pliant under Zayn's touch. Their lips meet in a hot, wet, sliding collision, and Niall immediately lets out a pornographic moan into Zayn's mouth. Zayn wants to keep going, of course, but he reminds himself that they're not in AKL, that this isn't Niall's house and therefore, not necessarily a safe zone.

“Why'd you stop?” Niall asks, disappointed, as he runs the back of a hand over his lips.

“Not sure how people here, you know – feel about ...” 

Niall frowns. “What, gay guys?”

“Yes, _gay guys_.” Zayn rolls his eyes. 

He takes a step back and then turns around, heading towards the staircase. He feels Niall right behind him, and as they go down the stairs, Niall's hand is warm against the small of his back. They manage to make it down to the first floor relatively quickly, despite the traffic jams that block every landing. During the journey, Zayn gets a pretty good idea of how popular Niall is just by the sheer number of people who know him, high fiving him and asking him how he's doing. Niall's friendly, so personable, and Zayn can't wrap his mind around the fact that a person like Niall would ever want to be with a person like him.

“Hey, there's Louis!” Niall says directly into Zayn's ear.

Zayn looks around, sees Louis hovering by the front doors, and he instantly knows something's not right. Louis' got that _look_ , that look that says he's keeping it together on the outside with his cool demeanor and perfect posture but inside, he's jittering with anxiety. Zayn's not sure when he got acquainted with that part of Louis, but he knows it has to do with Harry because he's only ever seen Louis that genuinely agitated over something that involves Harry. 

“Lou, what's going on?” Zayn asks, grabbing the other man's elbow as soon as he's within reach.

Louis flinches out of the grasp but then thaws a little when he sees that it's Zayn. He draws closer to Zayn, shoulder to shoulder, and grips onto one of Zayn's belt loops with two fingers. He almost looks _relieved_ and that's something else that Zayn can't understand - someone actually finding comfort in his mere presence, as if he's capable of solving the problem. Only people like Liam get that sort of reaction, not people like Zayn.

“Harry,” Louis states abruptly, before shaking his head as if to clear it. “He just disappeared and he's already had like – I don't know how many shots. These girls all shared their drinks with him and -”

“Okay, I'll go find him, don't worry. Just stay here.” Zayn wraps an around Louis' shoulders, squeezes once and then lets go. 

He heads back towards the staircase with the intention to get to the second floor so he can can have an aerial view of the floor below. That way, he probably has a better chance of finding Harry. But before he starts going up, Zayn looks around, trying to find Niall. The other man's vanished, lost somewhere in the crowd, or – more likely – carried off by some of his friends. He can worry about that later, Zayn thinks. First he needs to find his roommate, who's mostly likely already shitfaced and apt to get into some trouble. 

Zayn gets up the stairs as quickly as he can, stopping short of pushing people out of his way and just sprinting up. He's not sure why he's so concerned, but maybe it has to do with the fact that Louis' so worried and Louis knows Harry better than anyone, despite recent events. He thinks back to when he first moved into the dorm, that night when Harry got alcohol poisoning. He recalls how Louis had held him over the toilet and then had cradled him on the floor. There'd been this sense of exasperation, yet it was obvious that Louis wouldn't have ever thought about not being there for Harry.

On the second floor, Zayn leans over the railing and looks down at the crowd below, trying to spot a familiar head of hair either in the entrance area or out on the dance floor. It's harder to distinguish who's out dancing, since the strobes and black lights practically obscure everything from view, but Zayn looks anyway, scanning carefully over every head, every face that's turned upwards. He's been looking for roughly five minutes when he hears his name in a familiar voice.

“What are you doing?” Harry yells, his words so slurred they're nearly incoherent. 

Zayn reaches out just as Harry stumbles forward, and he sags under the taller man's weight. 

“How much have you had to drink?” Zayn mutters.

He secures his arms under Harry's armpits and hoists his roommate upwards, but it doesn't quite pan out as he'd planned. Harry lurches forward and wraps his arms around Zayn for stability and Zayn instinctively wraps his arms around Harry, too. For a moment they just stand there, locked together tightly as Harry breathes harshly into his ear and Zayn just stays still. He cringes when Harry presses his closed lips against the skin where his shoulder meets his neck. He knows Harry's not actually kissing him, just resting his face against him, but regardless. 

“Is Louis worried?” Harry mumbles.

Zayn can feel Harry's heart beating rapidly against his chest, and Harry is uncomfortably _hot_ , like a furnace. 

“Yeah, I came to find you because he wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Harry initially stays quiet, then says, “Why didn't he come find me himself? He always used to. He'd always – always take care of me. When I got like – when I got really drunk.” 

Zayn sighs, lets his head fall forward so his forehead is pressed up against Harry's shoulder. 

“Can you take me to him?” Harry murmurs, soft. “To Lou?”

Zayn nods, then closes his eyes, because suddenly he's tired and he just sort of wants to stand there for a bit, leaning up against his friend and ignoring the craziness around him. He's not cut out for this, he thinks. He's never going to fit into this lifestyle where everyone's loud and expressive and looking for a way to just lose themselves. That's not him.

Eventually, he straightens up and begins the process of unwinding Harry's arms from around him. Harry goes easily, dropping his arms and swaying slightly on his feet. Zayn wraps an arm around Harry's waist and then turns towards the stairs, glancing back down to the first floor. That's when he sees him.

Niall's in the middle of the foyer, in the middle of a swarm of people, but he's looking up, and he's looking right at Zayn. There's something on his face, just a trace of something that makes Zayn's insides drop, that free fall in anti-gravity. He can't pinpoint exactly what it is, because Niall doesn't look angry or sad or confused or anything, really. He's just gazing up at Zayn with this _look_ on his face and Zayn just can't place it.

“Zayn,”Harry whines, tugging on Zayn's shirt.

Zayn nods and they start to make their way down the stairs, taking each step with caution. Harry's practically useless, his big feet just a jumbled mess underneath him. Zayn wouldn't be muscular enough to hold Harry's weight on a normal day, but it's not a normal day and he thinks maybe he's got some adrenaline rushing through him. 

Zayn leads Harry over to where Louis is still standing obediently, shuffling from one foot to another as he struggles to not move. When he sees Zayn supporting Harry, a flash of an emotion that Zayn _can_ identify flickers over his face – rage. Zayn's almost reluctant to take Harry over to Louis, afraid of what might happen, but he's got no choice, does he. Harry's already looking at Louis, green eyes glassy but still so expressive, and it's obvious that he wants nothing more than to be where Louis is.

“Lou -”

“Shut the fuck up,” Louis snarls.

He turns on his heel without another word and heads toward the door, a move that Zayn had not been anticipating at all. He was honestly hoping Louis would just take Harry off him so he could go find Niall and explain that he and Harry weren't like – snogging or anything close to that when he saw them clinging to each other on the second floor. 

“Wait, Lou!” Zayn calls, tightening his grip on Harry and dragging him after him.

Louis is already heading down the sidewalk when Zayn and Harry emerge onto the porch, but Zayn's not willing to just let him go. He hustles Harry down the pathway past a group of frat guys sitting on a couch on the front lawn and out onto the sidewalk. Louis is walking as fast his legs will take him, but Zayn's a mix of every emotion in the book and he's wired and he's so not letting this go.

“Louis, I'm not taking Harry any farther!” Zayn shouts. “I'm leaving him right here!”

And he holds true to his word, releasing Harry and stepping back. He watches, already a bit regretful of his decision, as Harry stumbles to the side and then grabs onto a little sapling, nearly breaking it in half as he tries to steady himself. He lets out a strangled shout as he finally loses his balance and goes tumbling onto the small patch of grass next to the sidewalk. Louis clearly hears him; he stops abruptly and turns around to see. There, again, is that rage. 

“What the _fuck_ , Zayn!” Louis yells, barreling back towards them at an impressive speed.

The moment he's within arms reach of Harry, Louis is bending down and trying to lift Harry up under the armpits, but Louis is even smaller than Zayn and fails spectacularly at succeeding at the task. Instead, he manages to get Harry up about a foot before letting out a huff and dropping him, Harry landing on his ass with a pained yelp. Obviously frustrated, Louis steps back and runs a hand through his hair so roughly Zayn's convinced he's pulled out a handful.

“This is ridiculous,” Louis says, his words bordering on a yell. “I didn't fucking _ask_ for this!”

“Louis, Lou,” Harry says, pushing himself up into a sitting position. 

Louis looks down at him and there's just so much sadness in his eyes that Zayn has to look away. 

When Louis speaks next, his voice sounds choked, as if he's struggling to speak at all.

“Haz, what are you doing? Why do you get this drunk?”

“'Cause – 'cause I want to!” Harry replies, and then lowers his head until it's hanging between his bent knees. 

Louis sighs deeply, starts pacing. Harry's shoulders are undulating up and down with his harsh breaths. Zayn's afraid he might start puking right then and there.

“It's so _stupid_!” Louis finally says. “Do you even have any fun when you're this wasted? Or is this some sort of pathetic coping mechanism?”

Zayn winces. That was a bit harsh, even coming from Louis, who is notoriously blunt and honest. Harry looks up, bleary-eyed. 

“What?” he asks, clearly confused. “I – I'm not stupid, Lou. You're stupid. You're ...”

Harry trails off, hangs his head again. 

“I'm sorry, okay?” Louis says, suddenly desperate. “I'm sorry I fucked someone else and I'm sorry I didn't tell you immediately and I'm sorry I was a complete dick to you the entire time but I can't handle this, okay? I don't want to be around you if you're just going to pull this shit over and over again.”

Zayn steps farther back, wraps his arms around himself. This conversation is too intimate, too personal, but he feels like turning around and walking away would be even more disruptive at this point.

When Harry looks back up, his eyes are glimmering with tears. 

“W – why? Why did you … did I do something wrong?”

Louis' jaw clenches, the first sign that he's slowly losing control of his own emotions. 

“No, no, you didn't do anything wrong, Haz. I just … I was in another country and we were going out clubbing every night and you know how I am, how I get sometimes. I just wanted to relax and pretend like I wasn't Louis Tomlinson for like – one night, and I drank way too much and there was a guy and … you never did anything to make me cheat on you. That was all my fault.”

An unbroken silence drags on for what feels like an eternity as Harry lets out hushed little sobs and Louis just stands in front of him, perfectly still. 

“Sometimes there's no real reason for something,” Louis murmurs. “I think about it and there was no reason for me to sleep with him. I obviously didn't love him or find him all that attractive. I don't think I was even looking for sex, really. I can't explain why it happened. I just made the decision to do it and … I don't really know why.”

Harry reaches up, drags a fist under each eye to wipe away tears. 

“I - I didn't sleep with Brad,” he mumbles.

Zayn looks over at Louis, watches the way numbness gives way to realization then to this look of bewilderment. He wants to applaud Harry for admitting it, especially in a drunken fog.

“What? You didn't?” 

Louis looks over at Zayn, who just nods. Louis looks back down at Harry and chews on his bottom lip, clearly processing everything. He must understand why Harry lied because he starts nodding, then crouches down to Harry's level. He reaches over and slides a hand into Harry's tangled, damp hair and Harry presses up against the hand.

“I'm sorry,” Louis murmurs, and Zayn thinks he shouldn't be privy to this part, “I am so sorry for fucking everything up.”

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

By the time Zayn gets back into Sigma Nu, he's even more exhausted. 

After their talk (if it could be called that), Louis had helped Harry to his feet and assured Zayn that he'd be able to get them both home safely. Zayn had stood there, just watching as Louis and Harry made their way down the sidewalk, arms wrapped around each others securely, Harry slumped forward slightly and leaning against Louis' side. 

But now, now that that's at least settled for the moment, Zayn needs to find Niall. Immediately. The crowd has thinned out and it's easier to move around. He wanders around the first floor, then goes up to the second, and finally gets up to the third, where most of the Sigma Nu guys are hanging out in their rooms. One of them, standing in the doorway, sees Zayn and turns towards him, a small smile on his lips.

“Looking for Horan?”

Zayn hesitates, then nods. He's never seen this guy in his life.

“He's out on the porch.”

Confused, Zayn opens his mouth to say that Niall hadn't been out there, but then the guy is jerking his thumb towards the inside of the room. Zayn steps forward, looks inside and sees that there's an open window that leads out to a balcony. He mutters a quick thanks and then heads straight toward the window, climbing onto a shabby armchair so he can step out onto the roof. The 'porch' is nothing more than rickety wooden boards that make up a floor and a waist-high railing. It's a drunk person's downfall, he thinks. 

But then there's Niall, sitting with his legs sticking out through the bars of the railing. He's smoking something and Zayn recognizes the smell of the smoke once he gets a whiff of it. He lowers himself onto the floor and then mimics Niall, letting his legs hang off the edge. 

“Didn't know you smoked,” Zayn says in place of a proper greeting.

Niall smirks, shrugs one shoulder in response. He doesn't look at Zayn and that's scary. Niall isn't elusive like Zayn is, isn't closed off and vague. He stubs out the cigarette on a metal rail and then tosses it onto the ground three stories below them. 

“Harry's okay?” Niall asks after a moment. 

Zayn hesitates, wonders if this is a trap or a trick question. 

“Yeah, Louis took him home.”

Niall nods, leans back against his hands. He has a thin hoodie on over his shirt but Zayn can see a sliver of skin from where the hoodie falls to the side and his tank is cut low below the armpit. It shouldn't be a turn-on but for some reason, it is. Zayn looks away, takes a deep breath.

“I was thinking, you know,” Niall begins, voice thoughtful. “You're leaving in – what – a little over two months?”

Zayn can't quite digest the question, it's so out of the blue, but he nods anyway.

“I saw you with Harry and it's like … so many people love you, Zayn. I don't think you get that. Like your roommates care about you, Liam cares about you, Cher and Perrie think you're perfect and even though it might not seem like it, Eleanor likes you, too.”

Zayn just stares down at the grass below, wonders what it'd feel like if he just climbed over the railing and let himself fall. He shakes himself out of that thought; he's not suicidal, he'd never do that. He just wants to safely run away from this conversation.

“And I … I care about you, too. A lot. And so when you were like, holding Harry it just hit me that before I know it, you're going to be gone and I won't get to see you doing shit like that, being open and caring and … I won't get to see you at all.”

Zayn feels stupid, utterly idiotic for not thinking about his departure until now. Because honestly, he hadn't even given any thought to the fact that he's leaving in May. Once his finals are done, he's back on a plane to London, where he'll go back to uni there and resume his old life. And he's not one for expressing extreme emotion and he likes to think that he effectively crams all acute emotions into a place where he doesn't have to acknowledge them, but right now, it feels like he's being torn apart. Because reality is hitting him and maybe he hasn't been lost in some fantasy world here in California, some Wonderland with fairies and unicorns and fluffy shit, but he's at least content here.

“Fuck,” is all Zayn manages to say.

Niall chuckles softly. “I didn't mean to ruin tonight or anything, but I thought it'd be something important to bring up.”

Zayn nods, lets his head rest against the railing.

“Let's make the best of it, though, okay?” Niall asks, and he gets to his feet. “We'll make these last few months the best. So you can go back to England with some fucking crazy stories, okay?”

Zayn feels so far away from the place where he could call anything the _best_ but he nods again, and takes Niall's outstretched hand.

“Come back to AKL with me,” Niall says, squeezing Zayn's hand and smiling at him. “We'll start there. Tonight.”

And Zayn tries his best to smile back, thinks he does a pretty decent job of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry if this was an overkill on the feels, like ... I don't know. I'm noticing this trend of really shitty parties?? Like nothing goes right during them. But anyway. Smut in the next chapter ~~~~
> 
> Also, I'm starting to plan out the conclusion of this story so there might be a 2-3 more chapters left??


	17. Colour In Your Cheeks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I haven't really looked over this chapter too closely since I really just wanted to get it posted, so let me know if I've made any major mistakes. And I know the whole driving-to-Santa-Barbara thing goes by kind of quickly but the main part will come in the next chapter when they get to Lake Havasu, so ~ I used Google Maps for this because I know fuck-all about California highways, so sorry if I mess up somewhere. Enjoy!
> 
> Disclaimer still applies.

_"Are there some aces up your sleeve?_  
 _Have you no idea that you're in deep?_  
 _I've dreamt about you nearly every night this week_  
 _How many secrets can you keep?"_  
Do I Wanna Know? - Arctic Monkeys

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The sun rises bright and early the next morning, turning the sky a periwinkle blue as it slowly spreads out, coral and tangerine and -

It's a beautiful morning, simply put, but Zayn can't really appreciate it all that much. Not when his head is so full of thoughts. It's just - he dwells, just _dwells_ and _dwells_ over things that he can't change and has no say over. It's habit for him. He never vocalizes this, never talks to anyone about how he lets things fester inside of him, and how it feels like a tangible weight pressing down on his chest at times. But this time, it's hard to keep it in. Because everything is a reminder now, of the fact that he's leaving eventually, leaving this university and more importantly, these people. 

Next to him, Niall is snoring softly, one arm tossed across his eyes to block out the light that's coming through the open window. They'd shagged last night (Niall had said, breathily and with that signature joking edge to his voice as he nipped at Zayn's neck, _“What, we're not making love? We haven't gotten to that level yet?”_ ) and although Niall had drifted off to sleep almost immediately, Zayn had stayed awake. He hasn't slept at all, actually, even though he feels exhaustion in his bones and he'd like nothing more than to just drift into unconsciousness for several hours, perhaps days. But he doesn't really have _days_ to spare, does he?

He doesn't realize Niall's awake until the bed's shifting and there's a warm body pressing up against his back. Zayn doesn't move, just lies there silently on his side. An arm loops around him, and a hand gropes around until it finds one of Zayn's. When Niall squeezes reassuringly, Zayn squeezes back. He doesn't want to be a buzz kill, doesn't want to ruin things and chase Niall away with his brooding.

“You think really loudly,” Niall mumbles, pressing his chilly nose against the back of Zayn's neck.

Zayn shivers. “You can't get woken up by other people's thoughts.”

“Yeah, you're right,” Niall replies easily. “I woke up because I'm starving and I was having this really disturbing dream about having a threesome with Cher and Perrie in the Commons and -”

Zayn's already sliding out of bed, by then. “Let's find some breakfast.”

Niall reaches out, grabs Zayn by the wrist. “Hey, slow down a sec.”

Zayn doesn't want to, he wants to keep moving because that'll help distract him from his own mind, but he stops anyway because … well, Niall's looking at him with this soft expression and the smallest of smiles. 

“I really fucked things up last night, didn't I?” Niall asks. “By bringing up the fact that you're leaving?”

He's so straightforward, so blunt in a way that Zayn can't at all relate to.

“No, it's the truth, isn't it?” Zayn says, shrugging just to drive his point home. “It's reality.”

Niall sighs, tugs on Zayn's arm until he acquiesces and sinks back down onto the bed. He's thankful that Tony had never made it back to AKL last night because he can only imagine how bloody annoying they must be with their shagging and their early morning dramatics and, basically, just their shit in general.

“Lie down for a bit, you're tired,” Niall says, belying his own words by grabbing Zayn by the waist and rolling him on top of himself.

“Manhandling me, are you?” Zayn mumbles, trying to sound grumpy but failing.

He drops his head against Niall's shoulder and nuzzles gently against the soft skin. He should maybe be concerned with the fact that he's completely stretched out on top of Niall, not even trying to keep at least a little weight off of the other man, but he isn't. Niall's hands come up to stroke his back, his nails sometimes scratching across the bare skin. Zayn lets out a small grumble and closes his eyes. He won't be able to fall asleep while lying on top of someone, but he can at least just zone out for a bit, lost in the feeling of Niall's fingers dragging over his skin.

The thing is, Niall isn't really _sweet_ , Zayn's come to find, although he's extremely kind. But he doesn't tell Zayn that he's beautiful or lovely and doesn't call him pet names or insist on holding hands while in public. He isn't showy and doesn't obnoxiously try to remind everyone that he and Zayn are sort of together. And maybe some people would be worried about that, think that Niall's not all that interested, but Zayn's mostly thankful because he doesn't know what he'd do if it'd been the other way around and he knows, somehow, that that's just how Niall is. Plus, Niall will kiss him out of nowhere, sometimes, when they're not around so many people, and there's no shame in the way Niall presses his lips against Zayn's.

After several minutes, Niall rolls Zayn off of him and then leans over him, elbows braced on either side of Zayn's head. They just look at each other for a long moment; it isn't devotion in Niall's eyes, but a deep searching that makes Zayn think Niall's trying to memorize something. Of course, it escalates from there, and although Zayn's still a bit sore from the previous night, he only moans in encouragement as Niall crawls backwards and begins to slide his pants down. It takes less than a minute for them to get naked, having been close to that already. And Zayn just watches, like he always seems to do when they're like this, as Niall reaches over to slide open a drawer, muscles flexing. 

“I thought I was tired,” Zayn teases lightly, reaching up to pinch Niall's side.

Niall cringes away from his fingers but smiles at him. “I'll do all the work, then.”

The foreplay is short and basically unnecessary, both of them painfully hard within minutes. Zayn's not greedy in sex, doesn't like to beg or to make the other person beg, but there's that nagging voice in the back of his head, telling him that he doesn't have much time left to do this with Niall. Eventually, he'll go home to London and start shagging other people, and think about Niall doing the same thing the entire time he's with someone else. It should be enough of a mood killer to make him go soft or at least turn him off of the thought of sex for the moment, but it only makes him desperate and needy. He grabs the back of Niall's neck and shoves him down, pressing their lips together so firmly that Niall makes a surprised noise in the back of his throat.

“I'm still – from last night,” Zayn mumbles, unable to get out what he wants to say.

Niall nods and grabs for a condom and the bottle of lube, raising himself onto his knees as he coats two fingers. It's been only five or so hours since the last they'd fucked but it feels like months have gone passed in between, the jolt of Niall's fingers inside of him like an electric shock that makes his body tense and go rigid. He tries to stay quiet but it's impossible once Niall slides in with one smooth thrust of his hips. Zayn's body never even puts up any resistance, just yields like this is what it was made for. They stay locked together like that for a few seconds, Niall breathing harshly in his ear as Zayn tries to commit to memory the feeling of being full, of Niall's damp skin against his. 

“Fuck, _go_ ,” Zayn says, a bit harsher than he'd meant to be.

But Niall does as he's told immediately, never domineering but never submissive, either. Although Zayn's enjoyed the few times he'd had a shag that involved that sort of kinkiness, he also likes the way it feels equal when he's with Niall, like they're two parts of a machine that are both important in their own respects. He goes to wrap his arms around Niall's back but the other man just grabs both of his wrists with one hand, gentle as if not wanting to hurt him, and pins them to the mattress. And in a brief moment of clarity, Zayn wonders what they could've gotten into if didn't have to leave. Would Niall ever want to tie him up or blindfold him or fuck in public or bottom. 

Niall bites down on his bottom lip, mutters, “Shit.”

Zayn nods, unable to do anything else as Niall grabs his leg behind the knee with his free hand and bends the leg towards Zayn's chest. It's the perfect angle, Niall's cock hitting his prostate spot on. Zayn cries out without meaning to, arching his back. The pleasure is almost painful, the combination of Niall inside him and his own cock rubbing against their stomachs almost painful in its intensity. He lets out a whimper and bites down on Niall's shoulder.

“Be as loud as you want,” Niall rasps out, bending his head low so his breath is hot against Zayn's ear. “Let all the guys in the house know how much you like getting fucked.”

Niall has never talked dirty during their shags and Zayn feels a surprised swoop of arousal nearly shake his insides. He manages to wrestle his hands free of Niall's grasp and pushes him back, hands against the other man's chest, but instead of looking disappointed, Niall just nods and pulls out. Zayn rolls over, raises himself up onto all fours and steadies himself with his hands planted firmly on the bed. Niall slides back in once Zayn's settled, an appreciate moan slipping from between his lips. Zayn can't see Niall this way, but there's something about Niall's hands curled around his shoulders, yanking him backwards so they slam together, that makes up for it.

“Christ,” Zayn stammers out with a shudder, closing his eyes tightly. “Fuck, Niall.”

He reaches underneath himself and fists his own cock, trying to alleviate some of the excruciating pressure. He wants, _needs_ to come as badly as he wants this to go on forever. Niall's thrusting is getting erratic and he's losing his rhythm but he's going faster and Zayn can't help but let out a sob as Niall hits his prostate again, this time harder. And then again, again, and again, until Zayn's spewing out profanity. He comes hard, and it feels like every muscle in his body clenches up with the exertion. Niall follows him off the edge moments later, groaning loudly into the crook of Zayn's neck. Zayn slumps forward into the mattress and Niall lowers himself down on top of him once he's pulled out and discarded the condom. They just lay there, breathing in and out loudly, Niall draped over him.

“I'm going to miss you,” Zayn murmurs, his words lost in the sheets. 

But he knows Niall had heard him because he hears a shaky inhalation come from above him, followed by a tremulous exhalation.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Zayn returns to his dorm later that afternoon, sore and exhausted and hungry. Niall had offered to make him lunch but the house's cook – Jim - had been in the kitchen and apparently he has a mental tracking device on Niall because they hadn't even reached the door before Jim was sticking his head out into the hallway and saying, _“No, Horan.”_ So Zayn had left famished, opting out of the fast food run Niall had suggested (he'd been to Taco Bell, in the states _and_ in the UK, and all he had to say was that both times had been hard lessons learned about intestinal irritation). 

The suite is quiet when he gets there, not an unusual occurrence. When he'd first moved in and had met the other three, he'd just assumed that the suite would be filled with Ed's music and Harry's weird laugh and Louis' sassy comments and mayhem in general. And maybe that's what their freshman year had been like, before Zayn ever knew them. But considering everything that had happened this past school year, it wasn't really a shock that there was a hush, like everyone was too afraid to make too much noise, to be too loud in an already fragile, disintegrating bubble. 

He moves silently through the common room, glances into Harry's room because the door is cracked. He falters a bit when he catches a glimpse inside. Right away he can see Louis' profile; he's sitting on the bed, facing slightly away from the door. Next to him on the bed is Harry, turned towards Louis and the door so that Zayn can see his face in full. He doesn't want to spy, but there's just something so _still_ about the scene, as peaceful as he's ever seen the two in months. Ever, maybe. 

He watches as they link hands between them, just gripping each other tightly, and as Harry leans forward and rests his forehead against Louis'. Zayn thinks that they're about to transition into a snog session but instead, Harry starts whispering, too soft for Zayn to hear, the nearly imperceptible movement of Harry's lips the only indicator that he's speaking at all. And Louis just nods in response, jostling their heads a bit. The whispering goes on for several minutes before they pull apart. Louis reaches forward immediately, wraps his arms around Harry and Harry pulls him closer. They sit there, holding each other almost desperately, for who knows how long. Zayn goes into his room and never finds out. 

He assumes that they're back together, but when he sees them at dinner, it's clear that they're not. They're friendlier to each other than they've been in months but it isn't the same. Zayn wonders if what he'd witnessed earlier that day had been the final talk, their real break-up.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The topic of Spring Break comes up later that week.

It's the beginning of March, and the week-long vacation is coming up in a couple of weeks. He hasn't really thought about it all that much, honestly, since he's been doing his best not to mull over the fact that time is basically roaring by and he can't do anything about it. He's never wanted to be able to manipulate time as badly as he does now. But Louis brings Spring Break up with this bright, ecstatic smile and it's hard not to feel at least a flicker of excitement for what he's got planned. 

They – meaning Louis, Liam, Zayn, Niall, Ed, and Harry - are sitting in Liam's room, ignoring the episode of _How I Met Your Mother_ that's currently playing in favor of paying attention to Louis, who's standing in front of the telly and blocking the view anyway. He's cheered up quite a bit after the weekend he and Harry finally confronted their issues, and although it's been officially confirmed that he and Harry have “worked out their problems” but are not together, the mood has been far lighter. Which surprises Zayn, since he's never been able to imagine the two happy without being _together_ , but apparently he's been proven wrong.

“So, Spring Break,” Louis repeats for the third time.

Liam and Harry nod with encouraging smiles while Zayn and Niall roll their eyes. Ed just chuckles.

“This is how it's going to go down,” Louis announces, and in that moment Zayn can imagine him in a boardroom, talking down to his subordinates. “I'm going to fly to Santa Barbara, pick up the Escalade that my dad said I could borrow, drive it back up here, and then we'll all head out for a road trip!”

There's a swell of cheers from everyone, even Zayn, who does his best to sound enthusiastic as Niall grabs his wrist and makes him pump a fist weakly in the air. 

“And since I don't really want to drive eight hours by myself, I'm taking one lucky person with me!” And now Louis sounds like he's hosting _The Price is Right_ (Ed had made him watch it one day; Zayn had fallen asleep halfway through), all he needs is a drum roll. “And that person is … Zayn!”

Another chorus of cheers, this time sans Zayn. 

“Wait, what?” he asks incredulously, gaping at Louis.

“Yep, you'll fly out with me to Santa Barbara and then we'll have some bonding time on the drive back here!” 

Louis' beaming like it's hands-down the most exciting plan that has ever been made. Zayn immediately begins to envision harrowing images of being stuck in a car with Louis for eight whole hours; it isn't like he dislikes the guy, quite the opposite, but he tends to get a bit queasy on long car trips and he can just imagine Louis being the driver that rambles on the entire time, competing with the blaring radio and speeding down a freeway with one hand on the wheel as he crams fast food into his gob. Zayn does _not_ want to have to hurl on the side of a road in full view of others, nor does he want to die.

“Yeah, you haven't gone _anywhere_ the whole time you’ve been here, which is totally weird. So we're changing that!”

“And where are we going once you get back?” Harry asks, grinning like he already knows.

Louis throws his arms open, waggles his fingers with dramatic flair, and even throws in some ass shaking for extra pizzazz. 

“Seattle!”

This time, everyone just groans. Ed boos. Zayn's pretty sure someone launches something at Louis.

“I'd rather not spend my Spring Break being rained on, thanks.”

“How far away is Seattle, anyway?”

“Dude, I _live_ there!”

Louis silences everyone with a glacial glare. 

“What are your suggestions, then? And we're _not_ going to Las Vegas. I'd like to maintain some class. Getting plastered in a hotel room and then walking up and down the Strip getting our watches stolen by street magicians is not in the plans.”

Ed noticeably deflates. Niall frowns like Louis' just said something extremely unexpected and offensive.

“I don't know, how about somewhere warm? How about somewhere that's _known_ for crazy Spring Break parties?” Niall throws out, shrugging. 

Zayn can imagine him on a beach somewhere, shirtless and swilling beer and paddling around on a floatie, surrounded by girls in bikinis and fit blokes. 

“There's Lake Havasu,” Harry proposes, snapping his fingers like it's a brilliant idea that's just hit him in a spark of genius.

Louis, who has apparently named himself Ultimate-Decision-Maker-of-Spring-Break-Plans, taps his chin and contemplates this new possibility. Zayn has no idea what or where Lake Havasu is, but the name definitely does not have the same appeal as “Ibiza” or “Mallorca”. Not that he's ever _been_ to either of those places; the thought of being trapped on an island with who knows how many half-naked people, tanked and dancing to rave music for days on end, is enough to get him sweating with anxiety. 

“Yeah, we could,” Louis finally says. “But we'd all have to get to my house first, then we could drive to Lake Havasu. It's only like, a six hour drive from Santa Barbara.” 

“We'd have to have two cars, _at least_ ,” Liam responds. “One for the girls and then one for us.”

Zayn had not realized the magnitude of this trip. He'd assumed that if they did anything at all, it'd just be the guys. Maybe a couple of parties, a day trip somewhere, nothing too laborious. Now, he's beginning to see the extent of everything and he already feels overwhelmed. As if sensing Zayn's agitation, Niall puts his hand on his thigh and squeezes gently. 

“Rent some vans?” Ed suggests.

Louis sighs deeply, as if this obstacle is a mere irritation, a thorn in his side. 

“Let me talk to my dad, I'll work something out,” he says.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

And Louis does indeed work something out.

Apparently, quite happy with Louis' 4.0 GPA from the fall semester, his dad agrees to pay for two rental vans big enough to carry them all down to Santa Barbara, where the vans will be returned and replaced by the Tomlinson's Escalade and Lincoln (Louis assures them that the Lincoln is big enough because it's an 'MKT', as if that means anything to Zayn). Zayn assumes that Louis' dad has let bygones be bygones regarding the unfortunate car wreck Louis and Harry had been in last year. Zayn has not forgotten though, and decides that it might be best if they have a vote on who drives the vans based on number of driving violations and taste in music, but mostly driving violations.

The weeks leading up to the break is hectic, filled with last minute projects their professors had so kindly crammed into the schedule before setting them free for a week. Louis, evidently unaffected by coursework, begins the painstaking task of finalizing their trip. He hits a road bump when it becomes clear that all the hotels in Lake Havasu City have been booked months in advance, and he breaks it to them that they will be forced to camp. Outside. In tents. Where there are bugs and other wild creatures. Nobody even blinks an eye, but Louis struggles with the concept of _not_ staying in an air-conditioned room with actual beds and amenities. He complains for a week straight until he finally quiets down, but not before shouting, _“Where the fuck do I even get a tent? What the hell is a camp stove? Do I need to get a sleeping bag, too?”_

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

By the time the fateful Saturday of their departure rolls around, Zayn is fraught with nerves. It's seven o'clock in the morning but he's wide awake and wired on nothing. Not only has Louis successfully commandeered the driver's seat of one van, but Harry's somehow contracted what seems to be a moderate case of food poisoning from whatever he'd eaten the night before, ensuring an eight-hour drive that could at any point spiral into disaster. In one van, there's Louis, Ed, Zayn, Niall, and Harry. In the other van is Eleanor, Rita, Cher, Perrie, Danielle, and Liam. There's a bit of tension between Louis and Eleanor as they slide into the driver's seat of their respective vans, like they think they're on the set of _Fast & Furious_.

As soon as the back door opens, Harry stumbles in and stretches out over the entire third row, groaning miserably. On the floor next to him, he has an emergency kit that Zayn had put together at the ass crack of dawn when Harry first rushed to the bathroom, consisting of a plastic bag with a bottle of water and a bag of Saltines and two different medicines. Harry's brought his own pillow and blanket, and curls up underneath it, despite the toasty temperature. Zayn and Niall get into the second row while Ed gets into the passenger seat. The van has a GPS docked on the dashboard, which Louis fumbles around with for several minutes. Before Louis can get frustrated and break it, Ed takes over, entering Louis' address carefully.

“You have money spilling out of your asshole and you don't even know how to work a GPS?” Ed asks as Louis pulls out of the parking lot of their dorm. 

Louis scoffs, tosses his head to get his fringe – down and without product, today – out of his eyes before sliding a pair of aviators onto his face.

“I don't typically use mediocre GPS devices like this one, Ed. It's practically archaic. Like, listen to this woman's voice. She sounds like a robot. Is that supposed to be soothing?” 

“Jill,” Harry pipes up weakly from the back. “Her name is Jill.”

Louis rolls his eyes but says nothing.

The first hour of the trip mostly consists of the lag period where everyone is content with just staring out the window and getting used to sitting in a moving vehicle. Louis' calm so far, but the highway isn't too busy and so Zayn suspends his belief that Louis is actually a good driver. Ed fiddles with the radio and tries to look for a decent station, ignoring the occasional glances of irritation that Louis throws his way. Harry is silent and when Zayn and Niall turn around to check on him, they see that he's burrowed completely under the blanket, just a large lump hidden by blue micro-fleece.

They stop at a gas station during hour two, after Rita calls Ed (they'd officially established themselves as the main modes of contact between the two vans) to tell them that Perrie wants something to drink and Liam already has to use the loo. Louis grumbles, muttering something about people not preparing properly and Liam needing to learn how to hold his pansy bladder. But it does feel good to get out after two hours to stretch, Zayn thinks, as he and Niall emerge out into the sunny California day. Ed opens his door but stays seated. Harry doesn't even budge. Louis gets out and goes over to the other van to talk with Eleanor.

“Six more hours,” Niall announces as the three of them watch Liam jog quickly across the parking lot towards the convenience store, his joggers pulled dangerously far down his ass.

They stop for about fifteen minutes, then pile back into the vans. A few minutes later, Harry pops up, looking disoriented and groggy. Zayn catches Louis peering at Harry through the rearview mirror, a concerned look on his face. Harry _does_ look pretty ill, his face pallid and his eyes glassy. There's a lull in conversation as they all just stare out the windows. At some point Harry pulls out the bag of Saltines and starts munching briskly, making the only really noticeable sound in the vehicle. Zayn sighs softly and slumps sideways, resting his head against Niall's solid shoulder. Niall wraps his arm around Zayn and pulls him in tight.

“Ed, what is this?” Louis asks abruptly, gesturing at the radio.

Ed doesn't seem to understand the question for a few seconds before responding, uncertainly, “I don't know. It's one of the only stations we can pick up right now.”

“Does someone have an iPod or their phone, anything?” Louis asks loudly.

Harry's phone appears first but Louis waves it away immediately.

“I will take this van all the way down to the Grand Canyon just to drive us off a cliff if I have to listen to another Arctic Monkeys song.”

Harry retracts his hand without comment.

It comes down to Zayn and Niall's iPods, a brutal competition with Louis playing the part of Simon Cowell, but possibly snarkier. 

“What have you got on there, Zayn?” he asks bluntly, “Two hundred songs by The Wanted? Maybe every single Usher album ever produced? A lovely ballad covered by Susan Boyle?”

Zayn just replies, “Fuck off.”

Louis is undeterred by the harsh words because he _knows_ he got something right in that assessment. Zayn _does_ like a bit of Usher.

“And you, Niall,” he continues, “Let me guess. Every collaboration David Guetta has ever done with a mainstream pop idol, and a couple of Avicii's lesser-known songs thrown in for some DJ cred?”

Niall shrugs. “Yeah, maybe.”

Niall's iPod wins in the end and they resume their drive in amiable silence with a too-raucous Skrillex song as their background music. Harry disappears back under his blanket. Zayn smiles as Niall starts nuzzling his hair with his nose, making little snuffling sounds like a puppy. He keeps in his laughter when Niall's fingers begin tickling the skin behind his ear, but can't help the shudder that jolts through him when the fingers trail down the sensitive plane of his neck. He tilts his head to the side and up, an invitation, and Niall immediately takes it, pressing their lips together. They get about two minutes of quality snogging time before Louis rudely interrupts them.

It's halfway through the drive, when they're outside the San Francisco area, that things begin to deteriorate, just as Zayn had predicted they would. Harry starts letting out little groans of pain from inside his blanket cave and the traffic begins to get really heavy, which means Louis' darker side comes out like a raging beast. He flips off three people in the span of ten minutes, snaps at Harry to just 'hold it in for a little longer', and begins aggressively berating the GPS when the voice ( _Jill_ ) tells them to get into the far left lane and then three seconds later tells them to take the next exit. 

“This piece of shit,” Louis snaps, turning around in his seat so he can see the cars behind them before changing lanes. 

To make matters worse, Ed's phone begins to go off. He answers it promptly, probably happy for a respite from making sure Louis doesn't kill someone. Zayn can hear Rita's voice in the background, high-pitched and scattered.

“Slow down,” Ed demands, making nervous eye contact with Louis, who looks absolutely murderous. “What happened? _What_? You got a flat tire? We're on the fucking Interstate 580, what the hell are we supposed to do? Turn around?”

Both Zayn and Niall jump when Louis lets out an aggravated yell. Even Harry quiets down. 

“Well, we can – what? Are you fucking serious? No, it's not funny, you can't just joke around like that! Louis' about to -”

Louis reaches over, grabs the phone from Ed's hand and puts it to his ear, despite Ed's protest that they'll either get killed or pulled over by a cop.

“You are not _fucking_ funny!” Louis yells into the receiver, maneuvering into the next lane with one hand on the wheel. “Not only am I dealing with the most incompetent drivers in the entire nation, but Harry's about to shit his pants and this GPS is directing us to goddamned Wisconsin, so how about you just entertain yourselves without dragging us into it?”

Zayn genuinely fears for the lives of those in the other van just from the sight of Louis' expression as he ends the call and tosses the phone into Ed's lap.

They all stay silent until Louis simmers down. 

“Sorry, everyone,” he says after a good ten minutes. “I just lost it a bit. Haven't driven in a while.”

Ed takes a deep breath. “You're crazy, man.”

“I know,” Louis replies with resigned agreement in his voice.

Everything seems to settle down after that, and Zayn sinks back into Niall's hold.

“Lou?” Harry asks, strained. “Can we _please_ find a restroom?”

And once again the peace is shattered.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

By the time they reach Santa Barbara, Louis' hair is sticking up in all directions, Harry's food poisoning has mostly blown over, Niall and Ed are asleep, and Zayn is one hundred percent ready to get out of the van.

Louis lives in a gated neighborhood, which should come as no surprise. His house is beautiful, three stories with carefully manicured landscaping and this Spanish villa exterior that fits in perfectly with the affluent, oceanside atmosphere of the city. Louis parks the van in the driveway and he shakes Ed awake as Zayn rouses Niall into consciousness. Harry slips out of the third row and slides the van door open, staggering out on cramped legs. The other van pulls up to a stop behind them several minutes later. Louis' animosity towards the others seems to have evaporated because he gives them all a smile before gesturing for them to follow.

Before they even reach the house, the front door flies open and four young girls come sprinting out, yelling Louis' name joyously. The rest hang back as Louis holds his arms open and the girls nearly bowl him over with their hugs. They wrap their limbs around him like they have no intention of ever letting go and Louis just laughs, head thrown back and eyes narrowed in happiness. And Zayn sees another side of Louis, the softer facet of his personality that rarely shows up on a daily basis. They all wait until the girls get their fill of greeting their brother before they all continue their journey to the front door, eager for food that isn't passed to them via drive-thru window. 

They've survived the first leg of their journey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya'll ready for Lake Havasu??
> 
> P.S. It's a real place! I've never been, personally, but I hear it's pretty great.


End file.
